


Two for Tragedy

by endlesseternities



Series: Angels Fall First [2]
Category: Aladdin (1992), Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, Anger, Arguments, Arrests, Betrayal, Black Leopard Cubs, Blood, Blood Magic, Bonding, Bruises, Chains, Child Death, Cobras, Confessions, Crystals, Curses, Deception, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Exile, F/M, Fear, Forbidden Love, Forehead Kisses, Hate, Heart-to-Heart, Ifrit - Freeform, Infant Death, Islam, Love/Hate, Makeup Sex, Minor Violence, Mischief, Motherhood, Nurturing, Older Man/Younger Woman, Pets, Physical Abuse, Pool Sex, Post-partem Depression, Potions, Pregnancy, Prophecy, Prophetic Dreams, Reconciliation, Rejection, Rescue, Secret Marriage, Skyclad Worshipping, Solitary Confinement, Soul-Crushing, Spells & Enchantments, Summoning, Tears, The Sands of Reverie, The Sands of Time, True Love, Vaginal Sex, Wrongful Imprisonment, burial, djinn, scorpions, sorcery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-11-16 18:00:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 27,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11258037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlesseternities/pseuds/endlesseternities
Summary: Second half of "Angels Fall First." Jafar and Jahanara's relationship is put to the test through more trials and errors, but in the end, the hope of love and forgiveness remains though the sins of one man still weigh on her shoulders.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I kindly requests comments and kudos, thanks! I know this may not be as good as the first half, but I'm trying to explore new terrain for their relationship. Again, thank you for reading and please leave me kudos and comments.

When she arrives in her hidden tent, she realizes she is out of the limits between Agrabah and Nestarizan. She sees that the moon is risen high above the dunes, and with it comes a calm wind; there is no storm in sight, and for that she is thankful. Her two cubs, whom she has named Ameen and Alyas, start to stir up against her as they whine.

She knows they are scared, and for that, she feels as if she is one to be blamed. She curls the cubs against her and she kisses their furry foreheads. Each one yawns and closes their eyes, rubbing their noses, brushing their fur. Their little snouts graze her belly and carefully, they burrow into her. She is contrite though as she shudders.

She has lost the only one she has loved so dearly, so passionately, that it kills her to be away from him. Her womb contracts and sharply, there's a little pain. She gasps aloud and clutches the small seating bed beneath her, her fingers white, her knuckles flashing. She cries somewhat as the pain finally passes. Iago, who has traveled with her, speaks.

"You alright, lady?"

She shivers as she lies back. Her whole spine aches. It is not for a simple purpose that she suffers, as she knows now that she carries a little one inside her. It is not fully formed to the point where it is visible, but nevertheless, she can feel it growing inside. It makes her feel womanly in fact. But in reality, she is only a woman of seventeen. 

She is young, and from what she understands, her lover, that fateful vizier, is nearly sixty years, though his face and body do not look it; no, he seems as if he's aged gracefully. Jafar does not look his age, and for some reason, she believes him magical.

Iago senses that she is distraught and so, with a small blanket in tow of his beak, he pulls it up over her and allows it to fall right upon her abdomen; it sinks down with its thinness softly, deftly, and the Princess is covered for the night. He doesn't know what to do, what to think. All his life, Iago's only ever known how to be foul, how to be a little cunning; when a princess is involved, what's he to do? Still, he goes to fly to a perch, but Jahanara stops him with one hand and places him beside her head on a pillow.

Iago hears her snuffling. He sees how fresh tears fall down her face, and with one wing, he carefully wipes them away. He's still afraid of her for some reason, but he's content. Jahanara closes her eyes and moves onto her side, careful of her cubs, of her unborn little one. She rests her head and in the faint light of the dying fire, her red jewel shines.

\--

"I don't understand her," Hamad says. "It's not so unusual, but with Jafar? He's so... old!"

He stands beside a mural, one that was painted seventeen years ago. In the painting, it shows him, his brother, their wives and a little, dark-haired baby in the middle, being adorned in Allah's light. The infant is colored around with gold streaks and in her face, she is expressing emotions of light, of purity. Hamad strokes his whitening beard and sighs. He wishes that Jahanara would be that little again, as he misses how she was before. Before this mess, before her meeting Jafar.

It is only mid-day yet, and when the servants prepare the meals, Jasmine strides into the room with Rajah at her side. The bengal cub has grown a little more, and his back rises to her small knees. Colors of orange, white and blue enter the Sultan's side-glance, and he cups his hands together, rejoicing now that his own daughter has decided to come. 

"Jasmine, are you alright?"

For many nights now, she's hidden herself away. She knows what she did against her cousin was wrong, was selfish and perhaps even cruel, but she doesn't know how to express herself anymore. Her dark eyes turn sad and Rajah notices. He pulls gently on her pant leg with his teeth and is careful not to bite her. The Princess looks down and kneels beside Rajah. 

"Father," she says now. "I've-- I've done something terrible."

The fat little man is puzzled, confused. She's tucked herself away in her rooms, ever since Jahanara left, and now he is so damnably in fear for her. He walks over to her and plops down, holding onto her as she rests her head on his tiny shoulder. "What do you mean, Jasmine? Tell me everything."

\--

When she is finished confessing, Jasmine waits for her father's outlash. What she knows is now his knowledge, and she fears, for herself, Rajah, her father and all because of what she saw. The Sultan is almost at a complete loss for words when he realizes the deeds of both his daughter and niece. How do such women become so valiant in this day and age, he wonders.

"Jasmine, how did you see all this happen again?"

She chokes on her words. "Through a crystal ball, Father. It was hers before I accidentally broke it."

The public knowledge of Jahanara being a sorceress is rather grievous for the Sultan. He knows that by canon law, that if one practices such an art, that they are damned, that Allah will not take them into his salvation if they continue. It is forbidden for one to practice sorcery. If she was here now, her sentence would be punishable by death.

He starts to shake and quiver. He doesn't want to think of his niece walking to the executioner's block. To see her poor, beautiful head upon a spike would be horrifically awful. Hamad shivers violently and Jasmine watches with soft eyes as her father bites his fingernails. Little snips fall to the colored tiles of his throne room floor. 

"Oh, what do I do! If Zaman finds out what his daughter is, he'll put an end to her! I cannot allow that to happen. Even if she is a sorceress, she is still my niece, and she is my blood. I know--- I will have the guards search for her! Oh, I must call them right away," he speaks. "Guards, guards!"

When he finishes boasting, five men come rushing into the room. Their hands are upon their sword handles, and they are content to serve their sultan. The five stands in a straight line, arm-to-arm. "Yes, Your Highness?"

Hamad tries to be brave for himself and for Jahanara. He puts his little fat hands on his hips and raising a brow, he clears his throat. 

"Yes," he booms. "I want you to go out looking for my niece. She's been taken by Jafar, and if you see her, bring her back to the Palace of Agrabah--- not Nestarizan! She cannot go back to her father no matter what, and if you see Jafar, arrest him and bring him to the dungeons. He cannot be allowed to be near her again! Go, now! You're her only chance of surviving! Go, go, go!"

All five men bow and run out the door, through the halls of the palace as they rush down to the stables. Each one puts his canteen in a pouch and take the fastest horses that the Sultan owns. Their hands tighten on the reins, and one by one, the men go roaming out the gate and into the fading sun.


	2. Chapter 2

When the men leave, Hamad sends Jasmine off to bed after she's eaten.

She is tired from exhaustion, from depression, and not even the cub she calls friend can bring a smile to her face. No, the guilt from not understanding her cousin marks her with indefinite weight. She cannot even find the strength to comb her hair without crying. Jasmine is at a loss as to what to do. Rajah's little face burrows into her leg as she sinks onto her huge bed. 

His little paws sink and claw into the fabrics beneath him, and he growls with a sad tone, nudging her leg, brushing his wet nose against her knee. Jasmine grips onto a pillow and sniffles loudly. "It's all my fault, Rajah--- I've gotten her into so much trouble!"

The tiger mewls. Rajah is broken-hearted to see his friend as she is, and quite honestly, as he is only an animal, does not know what to do. He is nimble, little and unsure as she is. His whiskers brush against her soft skin and little does it do to comfort her. No, the Princess is overcome with emotion. She feels as if there is nothing she can do, but, in a small, sudden realization, she discovers there is something she can do. However, it will require the greatest amounts of courage. 

She can confront Jafar and demand that he bring back her cousin, safe and peacefully.

\--

Hamad is asleep when she sneaks out through her balcony, down the long, winding knots of silk sheets and curtains. Rajah remains behind, as she does not want to risk his life. Her little hands wring her downward and she travels downward into her botanical garden. She nearly falls, but with great restraint, clutches onto the silk as she descends.

Her feet hit the ground and she falls onto the grass. The night provides her with a great cover, and when she starts to make her way towards the stables herself, she throws up a tan shawl over her shoulders and cloaks her head. 

Jasmine's legs carry her as fast as they can, and she runs over to a massive tree that curls towards the wall. She knows that in order to get to the stables, she must first climb over the rim and get down safely.

Her hands grasp onto the limbs of the tree and carefully, she begins to climb its trunk. She nearly slips a few times, but with the right positioning of her footing, she is able to slink her way towards the top of the towering wall. Her plan is to follow the tracks of the guards, and with any luck, find Jafar before they do and command him to return Janni. 

Yes, she believes in that way, she can be somewhat successful.

\--

Her attempts will be proven once she reaches her cousin. She closes in on the men that her father has sent, and so, she knows that by following them, tracing their every step, she is close to finding either Jafar or Janni. She holds the reins steadfast as she halts.

The guards have made camp and she sees a bright red fire in the distance. The men are stopped over the other dune, the glow burning bright and warmly though she is not near. Her heart races. This will be the first time she has tried to sneak past the guards, and she does not know what to do; the princess fears she will be caught and how her pulse quickens. In the dead of night, she dismounts her horse and quietly, tries to lead it aside. Its hooves leave prints, as do her feet. Jasmine's mind is racing with horror.

'I mustn't let them find me,' she thinks. 'If they find me, they'll take me straight back to Agrabah, and I can't allow that no matter what.'

"You know, Princess, if you were trying to travel incognito, then what a horrid practice it has become. You obviously don't know how to act like a bandit," a deep voice says.

She turns around in the dark and gasps aloud, but the long hand claps itself over her mouth. She's found him alright, but how he manhandles her into submission. His ruby gem gleams in the moonlight and his figure appears quite black. She's found Jafar, and he is not intent on letting her go.

As she tries to thrash herself free, he hits her over the head. She slumps into his arms and he throws her over her horse, her black hair waving in the wind. 

"Don't worry, Jasmine, I shall see to it that you have a comfortable dungeon."

Then together, the vizier and the horse walk off together into the distance, their prints blown into smooth clarity by the wind. Neither Jasmine or her horse shall be found by the men, not until Jafar deems it the appropriate time to discard her lovely little body.

\--

Sensations of a floating feeling run through her body, soft and trembling. There are also thousands of mere vibrations running through her, and as she awakes, Jasmine knows it is fear. The fear of death, the fear of Jafar as he stands before her. As her chains rattle, she moves back against the dungeon walls. Her eyes are wide with panic.

The coward stands before her, his arms crossed and his hand holding a lithe staff of gold; the cobra head is shaped clearly in the light, and how its rubies shine with blood.

"Now, Princess, tell me why you're stalking the men. Is it to find me perhaps? Well if so, then you've succeeded. I can only imagine that you must be weary from attempting to find me. Too bad though-- you'll gather strength when I shall decide to kill you."

"You are an imbecile, Jafar, and everyone between here and Agrabah knows it! I didn't come for you directly, but I was coming to take---"

He slams the end of his staff hard on the ground. "For what, your cousin? She's long gone!"

Jasmine stands. Her veins become sinewy with anxiety, with agitation, but she's never looked more fierce. She grits her teeth and tries to throw her long length of chains at Jafar. "You lie! She can't possibly be gone! Summon her and I will explain myself."

He waves her off. 

"Idiot girl, your cousin has vanished along with something very precious to the both of us! My traitorous bird has gone with her too. If it were up to me, I'd have you thrown back into the desert and left for the wildlife. But seeing as you're a princess and her blood, doing that would be pointless. Once I send word to Jahanara that I have you, she'll do exactly as I've dreamed she would. She'll come crawling back to me and never again will she want to leave my arms."

'Lies,' Jasmine thinks. 'How she could love you in the first place is beyond me. You're a hypocrite, a monster. You're nothing but a snake, Jafar, and that's all you'll ever be."


	3. Chapter 3

Jahanara turns herself to face the east. There on the horizon, the clouds turn black upon the reds and yellows of the sky. The sun sets with great unease, and she can feel it; she can feel it in her youthful bones. The wind blows against her and as she stares, her breasts fall heavily, as they are swollen, bountiful with life. She holds her abdomen with great ease. She knows that in a few moons' time, she will give birth, to either a son or a daughter; she wishes for a son, as the face of a boy is all she has been dreaming of.

Since her exile in the desert, she has been gazing into her new crystal. Its glass face reveals the inner portions of a vision she has been glimpsing, and when she raises it close to her face with both hands, she can feel the warmth of two other hands upon her belly, upon her person. She knows those hands. They are the phantom-like hands of her lover. Those hands of trembling give her grief, give her love as she sees he has left her palace. The area is deserted, and there is nothing there, only the tall walls and palace itself. The Princess hopes it to be safe to return. After all, she has no other choice.

She must do right by her fur-clad children and the unborn little one she carries. None of them will survive in the heat. They'd die by starvation or dehydration. Parched throats don't do a soft-hearted cub good. She knows this and so does the sorcery she adores to perform. But she won't let that happen. She herself, if only she was not with child, would want to take up the penality owed. No cub or child would go before her.

\--

"Come now," she says, gathering her cubs. "We must go back. I won't keep us out here any longer."

In the vast cloud of red, she disappears with the cubs. The three of them vanish into the color, traveling through the air, through the wisps of time with swift magic and cunning. It is not long until they reach the towering outer walls of her palace. Her swollen feet touch the sands, and the leopard cubs fall beside her ankles. Ameen and Alyas mewl. Their little blue eyes are gleaming.

She goes forward and outstretches a hand. Her palm touches the front of the mahogany that served as the massive door. Powerful reverberations shoot from her palm to the wood, to wall and to the structures before them. In a slow creak, the doors thrust open. The cubs stand up and start to follow her in. In each step she takes, she feels the feelings of dread, of worry and yet, deep inside her chest, her poor heart is relieved.

She is home, and that is the way she plans for it to stay.

Ameen playfully jumps his younger brother, and he bites down on the cub's ear. The two thrash around and pounce, prance with each little roll and tumble they take. She can sense that they are happier to be out of the harsh landscape. Their paws leave sharp indents in the sands as they race along. Jahanara laughs at her cubs with pride.

"This way," she announces.

In her pregnant state, she unsheathes herself from the saree, her choli, her lehenga and drops her dupetta. Each of the fabrics fall down behind her, and she feels relieved of such heat. Sheens of sweat clad her breast. She knows then that she desires a long-deserved bath. She creeps down the wide corridor and makes for her private chambers. She aches and is sore, her bones heavy, weighted; her eyes are full of grey and she longs to rest. Even Allah knows she has deserved it, though she has practiced her craft, vowed herself to a man unmarried, and has allowed a child to take up residence inside her for four moons already.

'I'm free, I'm home, and there is nothing that shall make me leave again. I want nothing more than to hide from the world and have my child. To be with my cubs and my sweet little one is all I desire.'

\--

Steam rises from the bath water.

It soothes her flesh, heals her trauma, and warms her, even the little one inside. Both mother and child sink deep into bliss and do not wish to be interrupted. Her head and neck rest upon a soft pillow, while her body lies reclined in the wide stone pool. Her chest rises softly, deftly, and her breasts feel light as a feather whilst in the waters. 

But as she rests, washing herself with a mere cloth, she closes her eyes and begins to daydream. In her mind, she visualizes her child in a toddler's form. The child is a boy, as she continues to dream, and he is running, running down the halls of this very palace towards the arms of someone dark. Red-clad arms fling themselves outward and catch the boy. The child is lifted into the skies, into the red heavens, and she sees it is Jafar.

The father is meeting his son, she realizes. The father is meeting the most beautiful thing in the world.

And it is in an instant that she sees Jafar's rarest smile. His white, sharp teeth gnash as the edges of his mouth pull back, his straight line turning into a grin. The boy kicks his legs back and forth and giggles. Black hair simpers over the boy's forehead and Jafar pulls him against his chest. The little one throws his arms around his father's neck. Heartful laughs escape both males. Jahanara, in her dreaming state, sighs and cries soft.

But she knows now it cannot happen for as long as Jafar holds a grudge against her.

And then it happens--- their son looks at her.

"Mother!"

Brown-auburn eyes stare into hers. The essence of his unborn love shines into her face, and she can feel his presence. The boy is so beautiful that she weeps still. His skin is a smooth caramel color, his lips and nose the same as Jafar's, and she can sense that the young one is his exact replica. The only thing boy has of her, from what she can sense, is her kindness, her good heart and strength. He is a child unlike any other; he is the pride of a vizier and a princess. But what will the child be like? Will he be as she sees?

She does not know, and so, she cries as her tears mingle with the bath water.

\--

Jahanara kneels.

"Sands of Reverie, I beg thee to answer me. Show me where Jafar is. Show me where the father of my child is."

She is fresh out of the bath, and she wears a plain red sheath upon her person; the silk rests upon her and beneath its fabric, her outline shows. Her swollen belly is soft against the colors. Her hands swipe over the wooden frame that upholds the sandglass, and she lowers her head, eyes closed in prayer. Her red lips tremble as she silently waits. Each cell in her body trembles with anticipation; she also feels a terrible cold.

Her tanned skin aligns with goose-flesh, and when she opens her eyes again, the Sands are swirling around in their glass. It shows a forming vision of herself, and the princess glimpses her back. It shows herself staring into the glass, and then, she realizes what the Sands mean to show her. While she looks inward still, she feels the horror that she is being watched. And of course, she is. In a frightful daze, she turns around to see him.

"NO!"

It is apparent he never left. He must have found yet another spell book of hers, one that holds a spell to disguise one from a mystic's sight. The bastard! But patiently, he waits.

The princess backs up against the table and watches as Jafar comes closer. His hands are clapped together flat, and he approaches her with a contrite look in his eyes. He reaches out to her and she starts to breathe fast, her chest rising up and down, her damp hair now sticking to her face, her jaw and shoulders. Such fear circulates within. Her eyes fill and she grows weary of him. The red jewel upon his turban shines in the candlelight around them.

One hand extends to his direction. "No! Go away! I don't ever want to see you again."

Jafar now stands before her. He looks down and sees how full she has become. Her breasts are more rounded, her nipples erect from aching and fear, and she glows with a resplendent beauty. Truly, she looks more beautiful now than she ever has been before. Jafar sees how she protects their unborn offspring, and he cannot help but admire her.

'A pregnant woman in her splendor is one of the most beautiful creatures.'

But still, he speaks with an ominous tone to his deep tone. It grieves him indefinitely.

"I lifted the spell and replaced it with a new one," he tells her. "You can only see me and our child, Jahanara. You cannot see Jasmine, Hamad or your father anymore. I have blocked your sight and have channeled you to face your fears, your anxiety. Now, tell me what is wrong. I can sense it in your bones, my princess. I want to help the mother of my child."

She shakes her head and feels her tears fall. "I am not your princess, at least not anymore. What you did is unforgivable, Jafar, and for that, I don't know what to think. How can I possibly trust you? And why, under any circumstance, would I ever want you to see my child? I'm not ignorant."

He touches her forehead with his thumb. He closes his eyes at the same time she does, and when he whispers through multi-toned tunes, she falls unconscious and sinks down into his arms. He carries her carefully to her bed, and places her down in a gentle manner. He does not want her or their child harmed. He needs her to accept him back, lest he die of a broken heart. She knows that he would do anything, and now, he's proved it. It frightens her and the Princess of Nestarizan longs to hide from him and the world.


	4. Chapter 4

The smell of the bakul attar enters her nostrils when she awakens from her sleep. He has been brewing the last of the oils in the nearby cauldron, and its scent is potent, is beautiful; it is near completion and she can sense it. Jafar has the massive black pot on a table, sitting right beside her bed. It has a wood-less fire burning beneath it, and it is indeed enchanted. Jahanara looks at the cauldron and sees an odd foam arise on top.

It is finished and Jafar takes out a bowl, suddenly filling it with the handmade oil that is within the cauldron's confines. She watches silently and with a pair of wide eyes. As the smoke dies down, Jafar moves the bowl to the bedside and with one hand, pulls her gown upward till it reaches her breasts. It pools under them and her belly is exposed.

He dabs his fingers into the solvent oil, and softly, begins to draw both his cobra and her scorpion in a hybrid-like form upon her abdomen. She feels vulnerable, but she knows that he will not harm her. Jafar begins to sing an ancient Arabian lullaby.

-

"Our child, listen to my voice,  
Let all dreams soften your years,  
Let no pain suffer you to new tears,

"I allow you life so that you may be,  
For with these shapes upon the world,  
With your mother and I forever unfurled."

-

Jahanara cannot believe what she hears. He is singing to their child. He is singing words that her own father sang to her, so long ago. She clutches onto her sheets and sits up slowly. Jafar takes the bowl away and watches absent-mindedly into her eyes. In her heart, there is such a love overflowing, yearning to take him back again. But she's afraid. The Princess is terrified of her lover, of his darkness. Even though his eyes cast a sincere look, she's not fooled by this act. She still acts as though he has set a plan.

His index finger continues to trace their animals on her belly. He softly rubs her stomach then and barely allows any heaviness to extact pressure upon her. The way he moves, the way he flows ebbs into her mind and she knows she cannot resist. She is still angered at him though, and now, she wishes to die. She wishes for the pain to end.

Before she can finally sleep, Jafar grabs her face and switches her to look at him.

"Are you so turned against me now?"

She bats him away and takes his hand with a tamed softness. She puts it back to her belly, and as she does, the child stirs inside her, kicking against his palm. It is quick, but he can feel it nonetheless. The movement of life is so alluring that it's surreal.

"I loved you with all my heart, and I still do, believe me I love you, but there's something inside me screaming a warning. I suppose you hate me now for telling you all these things. I myself would rather be aware of my punishment now rather later."

All that was there between them has shifted still. The air between them is shared, though there are no wisps that can satisfy the tension. As she lies back onto her bed again, she keeps his hand. Wind blows in through the curtains of her palace but it still smells so damp and suffocating. It is a horrid smell that comes in, and she flexes her head to look away. She doesn't want to look at him or think of where the scent is coming from, for it is now giving her a colossal headache. 

"Make it go away," she groans, her eyes shut, her hands clenching the pillows. "I can't stand that smell anymore!"

Her hormones are alive with fret. It is weaving through her body in her bloodstream with strange shock-like waves, and after a minute, she calms down and settles in her bed. Oh, how women have strange bodies and minds. 

\--

"I would have you love me again," he begs. "As wrong as it may seem, I love your heart, I love your body and your soul. The cobra in me cannot hasten to scheme without the love of your scorpion. I need you to live with me, to serve me, to sing to my feelings with your own. I must confess that in our separation, I have drowned myself in self-pity. Princess, can you ever forgive me?"

No. She cannot think of a reason to forgive him. How can she? How can she look him in the eye and simply grant his request to forgive him? After all, he had cursed her father, her own father even though he had threatened to rip them apart. She tries not to explode with awful feeling. She lets his hand go and Jafar kneels downward beside her. 

"I loved you! I tried to give you wisdom, tried to give you my all—"

"I know, I know what I did was unacceptable. I should never have cursed your family, but I was trying to protect you. Jahanara, please, I'm begging you on the depths of the Sands of Time. Please forgive me. I honestly don't know what else to do."

It comes from nowhere— her palm collides with the side of his agile cheekbone. Almost instantly, a bruise forms and he cannot understand her, though clearly she has a reason. It's almost justified that he deserves such a "light" punishment.

"I do not need your apologies, and nor do I want to forgive you! I can't, Jafar, and you know why! If it were any one person of your family, what would you do if they were cursed? Would you smite the person who did the foul deed or would you commend them? No, do not speak to me of forgiveness and curses. I have seen more than all."

He lets loose his pain through tears. "You hate me then..."

In a rage, she strikes him again and again until he manages to push her back carefully. He does not use brute strength but he is not gentle either. Jahanara is relucant and scared, tired and without a cause. She wants to birth her child into the world, raise it, and die as any parent does. Hair clings to her watery flesh and Jafar burns against her.

"Monster!"

\--

Their struggle continues onward.

"Yes," he grunts. "I may be a monster, but damn you, woman, I am yours and you are mine. You should have realized that the first time we kissed and the first time we made love. I gave you my body all the same, and yet in return, you gave me something I could never dare dream of: a child. Princess, I want to be your husband by law and give you everything, but how can I find the will to honor you if you keep fighting me like this?"

How, how he pretends ignorance!

And how would he serve her? As an old man, much like he is, but with poise, with ease and posture of a sultan? No, she is not blind. She is more intelligent than most men of the age realize, and that makes her dangerous to them, though truly she wishes no ill. 

His fingertips squeeze against her wrists and she yelps. "Get off me!"

"Only if you confess to me that you still love me for who I am and not what I've done!"

His groin brushes against her hip and she can feel his arousal. Robes cannot hide what a man's urges, nor do they provide full discretion. Jahanara can feel his heat through the clothes. The hunger he has is growing insatiable. He wants to take her and fill her, to show that his warmth can still comfort her through she is swollen with his child.

A grouse escapes her throat. She knows she cannot fight him. She allows her strength to slink away from her arms. The two limbs fall back against the pillow, and he cradles her breast, suckling, drinking in the salty sweetness of it. Jahanara is ashamed but she loves it, though she'd rather drain her own life force than say it aloud. Still, he knows she's beginning to forfeit her decision to fight. 

The two combine lips and share breaths. 

"Forgive me..."

"Jafar..."

"Forgive me," he begs. "Let me love you again and let me be the one to keep you out of a desert grave. I will try to do everything in my power to make amends for what I've done. Now please, let me make love to you."

She shakes her head and nudges her head upward, licking his lips with the tip of her tongue and finally, he grovels into her and kisses her deep, long and hard, his mustache brushing her nose, his goatee twisted at the base of her chin. Again, she's grown defenseless. The two begin to make love and all through the night, into the breaking of dawn, there's nothing but their love, nothing but the child that nestles inside her.

And while it forms within her, there is nothing later on that can prepare the two of them for what is about to occur.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are themes of a stillborn birth and infant death. I apologize for the contents of the chapter, but I didn't know what else to write to give the story a good pivotal plot. I sincerely apologize for those who have suffered through such things; I don't mean to trigger, but please--- read at your own risk.

She lay quiet for a night and a half.

She hasn't opened her eyes, she hasn't breathed unless it was to take in a deep inhale. It is like a corpse-like state she has entered. Her chest rises ever soft and she appears to be in the eternal sleep. It makes him worried for her. He's never seen anyone sleep so soundly, and so, he knows he must venture forward, to see if she has taken ill or not.

He places an ear to her stomach and waits to hear two heartbeats. There is nothing but her own at the moment, and as she lay there, he feels something wet pool beneath her figure. Jafar watches her sheets, her dress turn dark. He smells deeply and inhales. The rusted scent of iron. It is keen, it is strong. Lowering his head, he begins to look.

He discovers it to be blood— the blood of motherhood.

One hand accidently slips onto the sheets and the wet substance smears against his hand. It is so thick that he is dreading what is happening. He is so arduous and marauding with fear he cannot breathe, he cannot think or see except the crimson. The sight of it is significant and alarming. It is a decent-sized pool, and it sits beneath her.

He's in tears and as they fall down his slender tan face, she wakes. She grimaces in pain and grips onto his hand, squeezing it painfully. Knuckles flash white and bones ache. She gasps, chokes and tries to sit up, but as she does so, her body spasms and violently, she thrashes. "Jafar..."

The table beside them holds numerous instruments both silver and embedded with magical properties. One is a knife, the other a small dagger; the rest are all crystals, talismans, ancient tools in which thousands of cultures rely upon. He rushes, tries to figure out what to do, but he is at a complete loss. His fingers shake as he reaches her.

Jahanara screams out loud and throws her head back. Her knees are bent upright, her hands gripping the bed sheets. Sweat clads her breasts and as she breathes, he looks at her and sees how much pain she is in. "Jafar, please!"

She screams once again violently, then all turns to black again. She faints as she loses more blood. His hands turn red and her body grows soft with fear, with desperation. In an instant, the two of them are drenched with crimson. There is nothing left between the veil of love as their child is birthed into reality. She feels the child leave her in the most painful manner imaginable, and Jafar is there to help her. He catches the child after she pushes five times, and how horrific the sight of red becomes.

The Princess is now a mother, and to think, if one would be happy, one would be slated with ease. She looks down past her trembling knees and sees Jafar's dark brows furrow upward, his face wrinkled with the expression of heartache.

"What is it? Is it a boy?"

The vizier's arms are shaking. With the slightest wrap, he puts their child into his cape. It is not harmed by the sudden veil, nor is it relieved. There is silence. An awful, horrid, terrifying silence; neither vizier or child can speak or make a sound. Jahanara weakly sits up and tries to look at the babe, but Jafar clutches it lovingly to his sinuous breast.

"Jafar, what is it? Tell me!"

Through muddled auburn eyes, he stares at her. He wipes his eyes clean with a brush of the back of his sleeve, sniffling, coughing. "It's a boy, but..."

Instinctively, her newfound mother's fear clenches to her breasts, to her heart, to her womb. She grips the sheets and weeps. "No, don't say that. No, no, no..."

"My love, I am so sorry. He's not breathing and this," he says, holding something string-like up very briefly, "I am so sorry, my love, but this was wrapped around his neck."

Like a tiger, she wrenches forward, throws her head back and screams, screams so loud, so violently that all lividity leaves her throat. Such rage enters her, such pain, such depression; there is no spell that can now cure her of her sadness and panic.

Jafar carefully lies their babe into a crib that now forms from nothing. The little one sleeps and shall do so for a new eternity. There is so much left unsaid, but when he holds her, the two break into a joined sob and clutch onto each other, yearning to understand why, why the poor baby has suffered instead.

"NO!"

\--

It's awfully tiny.

The baby is slender, formed and yet small; it obviously is not fully developed. It lies in her arm as she snivels until her eyes are bloodshot and red. There are barely any words to say. Jafar throws himself at the edge of the bed and begins to sob. He knows what has happened.

Their child has been born and has died altogether.

His little head is so very tender, his flesh tan and sinewy to the touch. Jahanara starts to rock the baby in her arms. She cradles it as it is the most precious thing to her. She has let down the most beautiful thing, and she feels it to be her fault. She believes her son has suffered for her plight. No, she believes that he has suffered to bring her a just punishment.

She swipes two fingers against his frail cheek. The little one is so still that her heart wishes to be the same.

'Had I not practiced my craft, had I not made love to your father and promised myself before marriage, I could have given you some kind of a good life. But please, my son— go with your aunts, your uncles and be at peace. And when we meet again, I want nothing more than to be your mother. Please, forgive me however you can. I love you."

\--

When the two wrap their child in a cloth, and bury him in a secured crypt, the two fall against each other and cling. Her black hair is rattled against his cloaks, and Jafar has kissed her forehead, repeatedly. She wishes her son back in her arms, only this time alive. She does not wish to think of him so cold and alone, so tiny and helpless. In her heart, she knows that they have done wrong. She wipes her eyes dry and backs away.

She lashes out at Jafar as she realizes what her fingers grab ahold. In the palm of her hand rests the knife from before. Its steel is sharp, its hilt is cold. The knife of ritual is what it is. She wishes for nothing but the end to come, but there is such anger in her heart that she cannot deny its presence. The Princess, for the first time in her life, feels so utterly vengeful. Through clenched teeth, she snarls at her 'better half.'

"I gave you my heart, and in return, in means of 'protecting,' you betrayed me and cursed my father. Jafar, don't you realize my Nadir is dead because of what you've done? I've lost my child, my only boy! I don't think I could bear to give you or any man a child for as long as I'll live."

He falls to his knees and wraps his arms around her waist, despite the knife.

"I will try to do everything in my power to rectify what has happened. I cannot bring our child back, but I want to do everything I can. Jahanara, I ask you to forgive me. I was just so angry, so overprotective of you that I should have considered what you were feeling. Please, my love, my wife, give yourself to me and I promise I will let you reap your vengeance upon me," he murmers, burying his face in her breasts.

"And what if I wanted you to die? What then?"

He looks at her with tearing eyes and he gives her the purest look he can.

"Then I will take the knife from you and fall upon it. Tell me, my love— is that what you sincerely wish for me to do? Is that how you yearn to see me suffer? If it is, then by Allah's graces, I will die for you. But know this— it will not bring our son back. When we die, we remain that way, unless Allah gives his say in making us a djinn, an ifrit, a demon, or ghost. All becomes dust in the wind and nothing will ever be lively."

"Damn you! Damn you to the depths of the nearest ocean, Jafar! I hate you..."

"And I do not blame you. However, I only wish that you give me leave to secure your future. I do not want to stay and make you so shallow and so unhappy to the point where you would want to take your own life. Please, Jahanara— I want my wife alive."

She pushes him off of her and slaps his face. "I am not your wife!"

\--

"I've only ever asked for so little in my life! Please hear me out!"

Jahanara is storming out of the corridor and down to her chambers. She is in nothing but a cold red sheath, one soaked still with her drying blood. Since they buried their son, she hasn't worn anything else. The Princess wishes to remind herself of her sins, and so, she wears the dress of blood. Jafar follows her and when she turns the corner, the familiar passageway that leads towards the palace of Agrabah lies ahead in the dark.

It's only then that she takes her dupatta off and in her grief, she runs down the corridor and tries to hide herself in the shadows. She puts her arms out and pulls them back, extinguishing the fires of the torches before them. Pitch darkness surrounds them and Jafar loses her in sight. He becomes worried and as he hears her scurrying away, he follows as if he is a lost child, searching for his mother before he's to be sold off.

The corridor has shifted into a good long mile, and there is nothing but blackness; the woman he loves is nowhere to be seen, physically, but she is still there. He grows more desperate by the second.


	6. Chapter 6

Hamad eyes the blood on her clothes. It has finally dried and has crusted upon the fabric. Jahanara has knelt before him and lowers her head all the same. Hamad sees that she has suffered most grievously. Bruises form on her knuckles, on her elbows and dark patches of black and blue shine in the dying sunlight. Jafar looks over at her lovingly, and he wants to touch her arm, to show that he wants her more than ever.

But he knows it is folly. She wants his head, which is understandable, yet cruel.

Hamad hardly wants to speak further on the matter, but if he wants to know what has happened, he must know all that he can. He cannot serve justice if there is nothing explained. He sees then how Jafar stands and tries to plead with his hands stretched.

"Your Highness, let me explain..."

Jahanara throws an arm out and extends her hand, pointing. The nerve, the gall! Behind clenched teeth and red lips, she lets a throaty growl pause in her mouth before she screams at him. "Silence! Do not speak to my uncle! You should have died instead of Nadir! You should have taken his place!"

Violence is about to break, Hamad knows. He sees that her temper is rising and that when threatened, a sorceress of power is an unpredictable creature. He snaps his fingers and the guards surrounding the room come to attention. Four men come around and take up each person.

Two come and hold her back while two others hold Jafar's arms. Neither one has the ability to move. Hamad comes between them in the empty space and tries to bring order to the disturbance. His mouth speaks words that he hopes will bring restoration.

"Please, Jahanara, Jafar, let me hear both sides! I will listen accordingly to the both of you, and from there I will decide the appropriate measures of dealing out justice."

\--

Jahanara stands firm and she breathes lowly. She begins to explain the situation with a solemn tone in her voice.

"I gave myself to Jafar, Uncle. I gave him my heart, my soul, and my body. After he and I had made love, I found out that three moons later I was with child. In the first three months, I was living in the desert and hiding from him. I didn't want my baby harmed, but after we argued with my father, the vizier took it upon himself to curse my family.

"I later gave birth to my son Nadir upon the fourth moon. He died shortly after the few hours he was born, and he so, I had to bury him in the crypts beneath my palace. It's because of Jafar that my son is dead. He cursed my father and now, my son lies alone and buried in the family crypts which my family built. I want him punished, Uncle!"

Before the Sultan of Agrabah, the vizier trembles. He knows that his superior has the power to dismiss him from life permanently, but he hopes that it won't be the case. He hopes that something will prevail; he hopes that the princess he loves will save him now, despite the claims she makes against him. 

He loves her so much and wants her still. And how he can remember how his heart beat matched hers. It is hers in every beat. But he know bits of poetry and tales of star-kissed love cannot save him from her wrath. He deserves his fate as much as anyone. Jafar shudders and as the Sultan gives her a look of condolence, he withers and waits. He hopes he will not be sentenced, but then again, he could care less for his life at the moment.

"Uncle, please help me. He was my son..."

The fat little man does not know what to do. He feels absolute horror for his niece, but then, he feels that she and Jafar have gone against Allah with all their tricks and magic. He wants to dispense justice, but how?

\--

Jafar is sent down to the dungeons for the night, and in the morning, the Sultan vows to give him a swift and exact trial. Hamad has Jahanara escorted to spare quarters, and there he sits down with her and listens.

"Uncle, I know I have done wrong, that my sins are grotesque but deep down, I love him still. I love Jafar and I would do anything for him, even after everything that's happened. I have professed my love and my hate for him aloud, yet in each time I do so, he always comes back to me. Is it because of a cruelty unknown that we must be bound in such a way?"

Her uncle claps his pudgy hands together and lowers his head, sighing. He sits across from her and passes her a tray of fruit, whereas she eats it slowly and silently. One hand grips an apple and she bites into it. The juice of the fruit slides down her throat, and barely does she feel replenished. Hamad wants to give her true counseling, but doesn't know what to do. He's never been in a situation like before, especially one that concerns a princess, his blood, and a vizier, his servant and second highest official.

"I am sorry, little dear. I want to help, I really do, but I do not know what must be done. You are my niece, my blood, but at the same time, you must be tried for the sorcery you practice. I will counsel your father's advisors and tell them to exile you, to spare you from death. You are, after all, the only heir left to the kingdom of Nestarizan. As for Jafar, I will see to it that he never talks to you or sees you again. I promise that to you now."

Empty space is all she feels. She believes she is reaching for her cubs, but neither their heads, paws or tails are in sight and she grows increasingly ill. 

"No, no, no! Ameen! Alyas! I forgot them back at my palace!"

"Who?"

She coughs a little and recovers her dignity. "My black leopard cubs. They're only so little, Uncle. They won't survive without me. Please, please, Uncle— let me go to them. They're defenseless without me; they're the only living children I have left. I promise: I will return after fetching them, and then you can decide what to do."

Hamad halts and steps down beside her. He puts his hands on her shoulder and pats them softly. He doesn't know how else to comfort her, and so, he allows her to rise and go forth. Her bloodied dress weighs her down and she shakes in her stance. A servant girl brings over a new gown for the princess, only it is beautifully plain and made of chiffon and silk. Jahanara takes it with shaking hands and lowers her head.

"You must be back within a fortnight. I'm sorry, but I will have to send a falcon to your kingdom with a scroll about what has happened. I shall try to keep your name good and well-written, but even with all my hopes, I pray to Allah that you are granted a good judgment and that He takes pity for your troubles, niece."

Jahanara nods. She bows before him and embraces him once. "Thank you, Uncle. But please, do not tell Jasmine anything of what has happened. She does not need to know. I fear it will destroy her if she learns any of this."

\--

The camel that bears her sore figurine walks down the sands and she is alone.

There are no others following her, and as she goes about her way, the Princess sees a dark shape against the sun. It is the silhouette of a bird; she can see, as it lowers itself in flight, the colors of red and blue and gold-yellow. She gasps as she realizes it to be Iago.

"Iago! Down here!"

The little bird looks thousands of feet beneath him and sees her weak hand waving. He flings himself downward and lands upon the head of the camel, which grovels at his weight. Jahanara takes the parrot against her chest and hugs him soft and true. 

"I'm so happy to see you," she says.

Iago notices how she seems so withered. Around her eyes, there are dark circles. Upon her brow, jawline and shoulders, there are beads of sweat riveting down in small streams. He's cradled against her and he feels how she's been plagued. She's smaller in appearance and weighs so much less now. Iago looks to her stomach and sees its flat surface. He can see that there is no shape beneath the gown she wears.

Iago inquires gravely to her. "What happened, lady?"

"It is a long story, and one that I will suffer to tell you on the way to my palace."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viziers were pretty much like a prime minister to the Ottoman Sultan; he held the second-highest government position, so he could technically command other viziers below his position to attend matters. However, Hamad is a ditz in the movie, so it's obviously he would need Jafar to back his play and help him rule.

Jasmine wakes to the sound of guards shuffling past her bedroom chamber. Their feet leave loud thuds upon the floor, and when she sits up, she secretly runs to the doors, looks past the massive wood and sees two burly-sized men dragging another male of a thin, gloomy stature down towards the dungeons. She sees the man wears red and black, and so, she knows it to be Jafar.

But the question runs through her mind— what has he done to finally deserve an escort to those looming black-stoned cells?

In a small urge of self-discovery, she grabs her shawl and throws it onto her shoulders. She blows out the candles, and carefully, she shuts the door behind her silently, as not to disturb Rajah as he sleeps. The tiger lies on her bed and does not notice her leaving.

Jasmine scurries off down the hall in the darkness, watching, waiting. She sees the guards take Jafar downstairs and as she follows, she eyes him being thrown into a cell, rough and without ease. She is frightened by the strength of the guards, as she's never seen them actually take a prisoner down below. 

The two men turn to leave and thus, they leave the vizier locked inside. The keys jingle in one's pocket, and the other grabs his sword. He points it at Jafar through the shift of darkness, and as he binds the vizier's wrists to a chained slab of wood above his head, the tip of the blade rests at his throat. Jafar is unaware of how close he is to death, but as Jasmine stares inward, she sees the look of boredom there, combined with sadness.

"You're not leaving here unless by a royal decree, so have yourself a pleasurable stay with the rats," the guard spits.

Jasmine hides herself away as the men leave. Their shadows slip past her, and she remains unnoticed; or, at least she would tell herself to believe. 

"Girl!" Jafar hisses. "I know you snuck down here, so come into the light. I'm sick and tired of watching you follow like a scared little girl. Come face your fears if you're brave enough."

\--

When the princess enters his sight, she's terrified.

She's never seen such cold auburn eyes turn so violent from a single look, and so, she tries to be careful. She's always been in fear of Jafar, and when he looks at her from the wall, even from a distance, she cringes though she tries to act brave.

She inquires then, "Why are you down here?"

The vizier scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Do you dare to take a guess, Princess?"

Jasmine does not appreciate being made a fool of. She puts her fists on her hips and snarls at him in response, her pretty little lips clenched into a straight line. "Don't mock me, Jafar. I command you to tell me why you're down here. What is your crime?"

Oddly enough, he doesn't seem to have the desire to tell her. No, he doesn't want to tell her of his betrayal to her cousin, to tell her of how her second relation has died. I would be foolish, and who was to say that she'd actually believe him in all this mess?

"I was an idiot, let's put it at that," he says.

She can almost believe that remark, but she still is curious. "Tell me now!"

With his failing strength, he tries to thrust himself at her, to rush her in dire intimidation. His teeth gnash and he growls, his voice becoming darker, more rusted. "I betrayed your cousin, that's why! What happened between the two of us is none of your concern. She wouldn't want you to know about what happened anyway. Now, run along and go play with that tiger of yours. I'm growing weary just by looking at you!"

The way his voice booms at her gives her a jolt of kick-starting fear. She shivers back and sees how venomous his eyes have become. 'They're like that of an adder's eyes,' Jasmine thinks. 'I've never seen such eyes be that way.'

But for the first and only time in her life, she does at the vizier instructs. She turns and runs up the stone flight, out of the dungeons and towards her rooms again. When she goes back, she clutches onto Rajah and kisses the top of his head. She's horribly concerned, but when he mentioned he betrayed Janni, she grows more and more curious about what he meant.

\--

"Father?"

Hamad looks from his porcelain toys and sees her coming in over his shoulder. She's angry-looking, with her thick black brows furrowed and fists clenched. She does not appear happy, worried or slated, but more so concerned and confused. 

"Yes, daughter?"

Jasmine halts before the throne and sighs. "Where is my cousin? I know she was here."

He rolls his fat little hands together and tries not to make eye contact. He understands the fury she has, and he knows she gets it from her late mother. Little does she know how grieved he is of this matter. Young Jasmine hasn't the slightest comprehension of what has happened, nor will she ever understand the manners of the law until she grows older, more knowledgeable about the kingdom of Agrabah. Still, Hamad is quiet.

"Father, what's wrong?"

"Jasmine, she told me not to tell you, but I haven't the heart to keep anything from you. You must sit down first. What I am about to tell you is quite horrid."

\--

"She— she and Jafar were...?"

"Yes," he complies. "I'm afraid so. And in the aftermath of their love, a child was created, and unfortunately, the little one perished after being born upon its fourth moon. Jahanara is broken, Jasmine— she wants me to punish Jafar by having him executed. I need him as a counselor, and also because he handles the business for the peasants, the people; he represents them; but how can I object to a mother's wishes?"

Tears rim along Jasmine's eyes. She feels so distraught for her cousin, and she feels nothing but a raging anger towards Jafar. "Then do it, Father, do it for her sake and Nadir's!"

He groans at the thought of beheading Jafar. The thought of all that blood makes him turn green. For in his lifetime, he has seen too many executions. It was only after the execution of a common thief he stopped attending them.

"But he's my royal vizier, Jasmine. He's the second most-important person in this kingdom, and he is my most trusted advisor. How can I possibly figure out what to do? I want to honor your cousin by dispensing justice, but I need Jafar's cunning. I'm getting old and if something should happen to me, I'd leave it in his duties to find you a husband or a suitable family until you came of age."

How dare he think of keeping that man alive! She lunges back and stands up, shaking her head. "Father, please! Jafar is dangerous and he can't be trusted! Janni will be broken more so if you keep him alive."

"I'm sorry, Jasmine, I truly am. You are young and do not yet know the ways of the kingdom. As of this moment, I am only going to have him imprisoned until further notice. He's too valuable to get rid of."


	8. Chapter 8

Jahanara tries to hold back a smile in front of Iago, but finds in his small face, she cannot. He seems so content to be on her side, and he knows what he'd like to do should he meet up with his master again. Iago's red wings clench together and he snarls. Little circles grow around his eyes and he bears his teeth, growling like a dog. He plops down on the hump in front of her, and he crosses his wings; he's overtly red.

"Believe me, Princess," the parrot tells her. "I'll pluck at his eyes for ya."

She cooes him and pats his head. "It won't be necessary, Iago, but I thank you the same."

There are so many things circulating through her mind. She can feel an awful building of a migraine coming, which blinds her eyes, makes her sensitive to all that she hears. Iago claps a wing on her head and uses his feathers to block her from the sun. She sinks back and forth, swaying in the winds. The camel groans and continues to take her.

It is a blistering horizon and both animal and human are blown with heat exhaustion. As the Princess blinks in and out of consciousness, her eyes are swollen and dry; she's on the cusp of falling off the camel's back, and Iago can only do so much; he wants to help her however he can, but he's a parrot. He is no powerful magician in the slightest.

The poor girl is worn out. Her body seems so thin and stalky, especially after giving birth only a few days ago. Her knees, her ankles and wrists are frail now. She shakes now that she is weakening and is ill. The nerves in her body are trembling. Jahanara finally falls off the camel's back and lands in the sands. Is this more so a punishment still for what she allowed to happen to her son? For all that's happened, is she cursed?

\--

There's no water around anywhere. It's scarce, it's a wasteland. 

Nothing but bare sand from what the eye can tell, and she's perhaps a day away from her palace yet; it's still too long for her cubs to go on without her. She can't wait that long. She will die from dehydration, and her cubs will die from starvation, loneliness.

It's a risk she can't take.

Where she lies, there's a curve that goes down the slop of the dune. It goes down, down, down, and if she can muster enough strength to get to the top, she can slide down the grains and hopes it brings her closer. The heat of the sun is becoming more and more unbearable by the second. She's so disgruntled that she's drenched in sweat.

Again, with no water present, she'll be dead in a few hours. She has to get to her cubs.

"Iago," she croaks, her voice cracking. "I need your help. I need someone to help me..."

The Princess is growing delirious. In each word she says, she's slurring, her speech wasted. She squints at the parrot as he lands before her face, and intently, he pats her head still. The inner walls of her throat are becoming parched, drying out as she stills. 

Now he begins to panic. He flutters about and tries to think of what to do, then it clicks in his little brain— to save her, he has to go back to the one who abused them both. He doesn't want to do it, but he's only a bird; he has no power or ways of saving one like her.

"I'll do what I can. I'll be back as soon as possible. Just hang on, Princess."

Before he leaves her, he flaps overhead and pulls her shawl over her body, trying to shield her from the intense sunlight. The red color has faded off, and now only white fabric remains. It should be enough to give her acute and clean circulation. Against the wind, Iago flies off towards Agrabah. He doesn't have the heart to tell her where he's going, but he wants her safe, wants her and her cubs saved. Though he acts callous some times, he does have a heart.

Her camel grovels at her as it kneels down. Its spit wavers from its mouth and it burrows against her. Mammal guarding mammal. For her entire being, there is naught but an advancing attack on her nervous system; cold sweat glistens on her skin and she cannot comprehend the true compacity of the heat. She is no magnificent animal that is able to counteract the surrounding. No, she is a simple sorceress with a fading life.

'I will die here,' she thinks. 'I will die and there'll be nothing left of me; I will become a feast for the desert creatures, and only then will I be able to be with Nadir."

Then it occurs to her— he could help her. Though she's still thinking of him as precarious, she knows he would do anything; their differences could potentially mean life or death. It will be impossible for her to last in the treacherous terrain for long.

'Jafar,' she whispers. 'I told you that you were my enemy, I told you that I can never forgive you for what you've done; but if you still have love for me, if you can still hear me, I beg that you come. I'm dying. I can't move. I can't... breathe. Please, my love."

\--

Jolts of pain, of pleasure run through his spine and body. Beneath his turban, his mind is reeling. He feels the uncharitable pressure on the back of his neck, whereas her voice rings a thousandfold in his mind. She's desperate to say the least. She's full of horror, full of shock; there is a sound of silence among her tone and he can't stand it.

'You told me that you would never forgive me,' he whispers to her. 'I can understand that, but you want me to save you? How quaint. No, I will not help you.'

He understands the cost of magic and she too knows this. Even as they communicate through mind and time, there will still be yet another price to pay. Jafar settles back against the wall and begins to sweat, begins to feel the heat of the sun upon his face though he clearly sits in the dark. Rats scurry by him and he feels as if he's been left to the adders and the scorpions. Her scorpions. Those black creatures of fabled death are her spirit animal, and how she can be sleek, beautiful, cruel like they are.

'A woman well-practiced in magic is a dangerous one. Remember that through the ways of the verse, the female holds all power over man, entangling him forever in her sway.'

It is a daunting situation.

He laughs at her, laughs at the mere thought that after all her explosion of hatred, that she's begging, literally, for him to come and save her. And how can he? He's chained, he's imprisoned. She's miles away and there's no possibility that he'd reach her in time, unless he was permitted to use diablerie, use her spellbooks to appease to her heart.

'Jafar, please!'

It is an unnatural tone to her voice and he can tell she is dying, most obviously. 

'If I do this,' he tells her, gripping his chains, flexing in pain, 'I request that you marry me. Share my chambers, share my life and my bed; do not think of any other but me. I will rectify your pain somehow, and perhaps, maybe in the future, we can have another son. I want you, Jahanara, and there will never be a night when I won't bleed for you. What do you say?'

Faith. That is what is required of her, she knows that now. Through all the pain, through all the horror she's faced, this will be her greatest task. Oh, if only she hadn't step foot in Nestarizan, then followed to Agrabah; she knows that he is her weakness. She grips the sands and as she coughs, she blinks hard and keep her eyes shut. She can't bring herself to think of him as an enemy anymore, and how she hates herself for having been so cruel to him.


	9. Chapter 9

"Jafar! Jafar, where you at!"

The parrot flies in through the bars of the small window; he goes deep down into the belly of the dungeon, searching, scouting. He's gritting his teeth again and as he waits to find his master, he growls.

"Here, Iago."

He ducks his head and flaps downward. Jafar is still chained against the wall, his wrists in the iron cuffs. 'Perfect,' Iago tells himself. 'Now I can pluck at him and show him who's boss."

However, it's so moldy, so dusty down in the stone-built dungeons that the poor bird can barely see. He flies down again until he accidently bumps into a rafter; the wood knocks him unconscious and he falls directly beside Jafar's knee. A dust pile catches his fall and it shimmers everywhere. Jafar and Iago cough, and the vizier is less than amused.

"Pathetic little bird," he muses. "Though I must admit, you are loyal to a fault."

\--

When Iago awakes, Jafar is already unhinged from his restraits. He uses his beady yellow eyes to look around, and when he stops seeing double, he sees his master.

The man stands tall, clad in his usual colors, and he carries a venomous look on his face; his brows are full and pulled together as he sheathes something away in his cloth. It is long, sharp, and metallic; to the parrot's shock, he knows it to be a knife, one that is gold and decorated with rubies on the cobra-shaped hilt. 

"You better not hurt her!" Iago objects. "She's been through enough as it is."

Through the dark of the dungeon, Jafar peers at the bird and his eyes twitch. Auburn turns dark and somber, dismal and inauspicious. With one hand, he grabs Iago by the neck and wrenches him upward. 

"Who are you to tell me what to do? Besides, I told her that I would never hurt her! You are a little fool for being that I'd do such a thing. And yes, Iago— for the first time in your little life, you're quite right; she has been through enough."

But something is not right.

As he loosens his grip on the parrot's throat, Jafar begins to contemplate something. He hasn't told him anything of his beloved's ordeal, so he begins to deduce the impossible. Jafar becomes more aware of Iago's instantaneous reactions of turmoil.

"You saw her, didn't you, Iago."

His grip becomes harder, as if there is a propulsion of mistrust in his hand itself. The little one chokes, gasps and tries to beat at his master's hands with his balled-up wings.

"You will show me where my companion is, and you will do it now," Jafar quirks, his words irreverent.

\--

She's lying on the shawl Iago draped her with.

It's wet from her sweat, and it is dangerous, they know; if she lingers any longer without water, she most certainly will die. The horse that carries Jafar trots over to her direction, but is commonly spooked by a small, black creature. It is, of course, her scorpion. There are nearly forty in a horde and the horse backs away, neighing wildly.

"Damn beast! Go around them if you must!"

Over and over again, the horse began to whinny with an uncontrollable mannerism; it is so afraid of the scorpion horde that even its batting of hooves does not frighten them. The creatures are there to protect the Princess. After all, as mentioned, they are her animal; they are combined with her spirit, are the symbol of her magic and its powers.

But time is of the essence.

The tips of their tails, sharp in their demeanor, rise high, higher until the black of their bodies gleam in the sunlight. It is soon growing dark, and with no torch around, Jafar will have to execute a precise plan to get past the scorpions and take her back to her palace. And judging from where they are, it is only another day's ride.

Iago grows frantic. He's never seen so many arachnid-looking pests before, and this scares him. He hides under the hood of Jafar's turban, and with a pair of flimsy eyes, looks down at the Princess as she now only faintly breathes.

"You gotta hurry, Jafar!"

He snaps at the bird through a snare so dark that even the worst ifrit would not dare to cross. "I know, you ignorant little fiend!"

Then suddenly, the vast column of sand shifts beneath the black crowd and the creatures so sliding down the dunes. Their shapes are swept away, no— no, they rather scurry away, as if being asked to do so. Jafar and Iago both look from the scorpions and back to the Princess. She is still alive!

Her left hand is raised in the air. Each one of her digits is shaking, almost convulsing, and he trots the horse forward, its speed now accelerated. With a swift lunge, Jafar lowers a hand, and immediately picks her up by the shawl she lies under. He quickly pulls her onto the horse, and together, they all start to ride towards her own palace.

\--

"You're lucky not to be dead. If you had laid there in the desert for a few more hours, you would be gone."

The splash of cold water runs down her face. "I suppose it would be for the better."

"Don't," he groans. "Don't say things like that."

Where she lay in her bed, now surrounded by her cubs, the Princess receives the notion that he is being sincere. Whereas he just confided to not caring about cursing her father, he now shows the greatest love, the tenderest gaze that he can offer up. She is reeling with pain and her breasts are still sore. They are still full of essence that would've provided drink for Nadir. A cold sheen of sweat breaks over her as she stirs.

The cubs notice their mother crying, and they lick away her tears; the saltiness is swept away by the brush of their tongues, and in a moment of quick rejoice, she throws her arms around them and kisses the top of Ameen and Alyas' heads. "My boys," she says.

The vizier, on the other hand, is finally expanding his views. 

He looks down at her and watches in silent mesmerization how she handles the cubs. The little ones try to show off by roaring, and she smiles, cooing at them, rubbing the fur under their necks. Ameen bites her hand playfully without giving any real pressure. Alyas bats at her hand as she swoops down with it, swiftly rustling the fur on his belly.

"You are a natural mother, my love," he tells her.

She pauses. "You truly believe that?"

Jafar carefully moves the cubs to one side while he lies beside her. The two tumble onto her left side and when he dips his head downward, he kisses her throat, fondles the soft warmth of her large breast. He lightly traces circles on her skin and she feels, feels as though she's revived of the worst pains. 

"With all my heart, I believe that. And Princess," he says, "I trust that you remember that you said you would bind yourself to me."

Marriage— a marriage between a royal vizier and a princess, was it possible?

Would mortal law allow them to wed one another? The two have already consummated their love for one another, made sure of it through the poor child who'd been born too early. Could she allow herself to give him her body one last time for the sake of a new baby? She does not know, but as he continues to adore her body, to kiss it, she sighs.

"And I will keep my promise. I will marry you, Jafar," she atones. "But first, let us get some rest; besides you and Iago, I'm sure, my cubs and myself are tired. We can marry soon after, I promise."

He gives her quite a stern, yet humble look. With his index finger and his thumb, he claps them onto the bottom of her chin and kisses her, speaking between kisses. "I will hold you to that promise, my love. I won't allow you to forget it."

"I know."


	10. Chapter 10

Rajah is grown half-way now, and when Jasmine gives him a new plate of meat, the growing tiger devours it endlessly, as if it is the last meal he is to savor. His white fur upon his face is bloodied, and he eats messily, allowing tiny bits of meat to dangle off.

The fountain outside in the palace courtyard holds a new array of fish, and as Jasmine lies there on its rims, she hums to herself and wonders, 'What has become of my cousin?' Her fingers swirl in the water and then she remembers: Jahanara only has eyes for Jafar. She is so disgusted by the thought of her with him, that Jasmine shivers in the broad warmth. Rajah notices this and stops eating. He goes beside her and tries to play.

But the Princess of Agrabah is not in the mood.

She feels betrayed. She feels betrayed by the only other mother figure she's ever had; the feeling weighs down on her heavily, makes a sinking crunch in the pits of her stomach. There is so much that she cannot understand. How, by the good graces of Allah, can her cousin, her blood, so much as look at Jafar and find him beautiful?

She remembers what she saw in the crystal. Jasmine remembers how she saw her cousin grip onto the man's robes; the thumbs of her cousin had brushed against his sternum with the simplest love. Just thinking about it makes Jasmine's heart race.

"He's a coward. He's a spell-bound, simpering coward and that's all he'll ever be. I've made sure to say that to him once, and when he returns, I will be sure to give him a proper execution. How dare he mark my cousin like that though, giving her a child only for the poor thing to die. How can she even continue to love him— Oh, Rajah, this is all madness. She's ruined herself by being his!"

The tiger curls into her face and licks her cheek. He's alarmed for her, and still, he is only forming. His paws are expanding, his claws sharpening; the very spurts he goes through are changing him, always. He does not know what to do for her in the slightest.

\--

Scents of familiar incense burn in her rooms, and Jasmine warms the oils of multiple attars. It all reminds her of her cousin. The smoke, the cones— it is a beautiful smell and she revels in it, though the spells and enchantments, she does not want them at all.

She knows that the practice of sorcery is forbidden. In the ancient book, it says one who practices it will have no share in the Hereafter. It is known by all, and to continue a life of secrecy is most daunting. To give one's life to those kinds of arts is rather dark, but it's at the cost of one's soul. No riddle, no verse could save her cousin. 

Jasmine knows that to be true. It is known that damnation does not wait. 

She combs her black hair and looks out past the lime-green curtains that blow in the wind. The sight of the evening sky shows, along with the millions of stars that riddle its black face. How innocent it all looks. She wonders then if Nadir, her dear cousin, is up there in Allah's hands, watching, laughing in health. She softly weaves new tears and sets her brush down. 

"Oh, Nadir, I wish you could be here. I wish you could know your mother, to know me, your great-uncle. There's so much fun to be had in life, but it's all so sad knowing what happened to you. I just wish there are others to keep you safe and happy in the Hereafter. May Allah grant you peace."

It leaves her lips as a sort of prayer. 

By the time she goes to bed, she's whispered over a thousand prayers in fact. Her red lips sound in the reverberating tones and over and over, she says the verses she was taught at a young age. Her mother, before her own death, had taught those many verses.

'Father won't speak of her. I don't remember what she looks like, nor do I recall what her voice sounds like. I wish,' the Princess thinks, 'I wish, I wish to remember her.'

\--

Hamad is stacking his porcelain figures atop of one another again.

He finds it helps him to pass the time. It helps him to reflect on Jasmine, her future, it helps him to remember his wife, his sultana. If only he had died!

He adores his daughter so much, and he cannot bear to think of any wrong coming to her. Ever since she was a babe, he has taught her so much. There's only one future left for his beloved daughter, and that is for her to marry when she comes of age. She has to secure Agrabah, live her life as its queen and rule as best as she can in his stead.

He wants Jasmine safe, that is all he wants. He wants no fiend beside her on the throne, and he wants grandchildren, young and healthy, safe and strong. Young boys, girls— the sultan does not mind which he gets, as long as the children of his daughter are blessed with peace. And how he can picture them now.

In the back of his mind, he sees little feet pattering along the gold and blues of the palace long after he's gone. Black hair sways behind them upon their heads; their clothes flow like waves of a far-off ocean. Brown eyes will glisten, he knows, and how he has come to cherish the thought of them all. A grin forms beneath his whitening beard. But it is fading away, the future is.

Jasmine has no concept of what is happening. All she knows is what has been told to her. She does not know of what to do, who to trust or where to go. She's only ever known Agrabah. Here she was born, and here she will die. She can travel only inside its walls, lest she is married to another from a different kingdom. Only then will she be able to leave.

But what can he do to remedy what has happened?

He knows now that only Allah can prepare them all for the road ahead. He cannot forfeit what has happened, and he knows by the grace of Allah, there is only one justice that can be delivered. All he can do is educate Jasmine, raise her to be a good young woman and all he can do for his niece, for his vizier, is pray for both of their souls.


	11. Chapter 11

"You can have this saree," Jafar quips. "It belonged to my mother when she was young. It was the favorite piece of Priya, in fact. It was in her family for generations, and now, though I clearly have no use for it, I am giving it to my bride. I wish my sister could have worn it some day, but her path is just as dark-kissed as mine. So, it is yours."

He drapes it over her shoulder and adores the sight of her within it. The cloth she wears holds the pattern of suns, of stars and the moon. It is also adorned in black beads, those which glitter in the candlelight. Swirls align the beads and sit firm under them all, and are all colored in the shape of glistening gold. Her lehenga and choli match altogether too. They are garments fit for a princess, and he knows it to be true.

Her lehenga is primarily red, with accents of black, of gold and slight purple-blue in the rifts. It trails behind her softly like a shadow, and when she spins around, it looks like a cascade of the constellations shimmering, swivering on fabric. He looks at her again and again, and when she flexes her arms out, she puts on her golden jewelry.

Ten bracelets, both thick and thin, sit firm on her wrists. All are plain but yet embedded with swirls, with dark-cut designs. The jewels that sit upon her breasts now, a fine array of diamonds, rubies, they all sit in beautiful hand-set pieces of gold. Truly, she is made to look as she is— a noblewoman, a princess, a queen; however, she is slowly losing her royalty by each passing day. She has chosen the life of a sorceress. She wishes for life among ancient books, with spells, with amulets and oils, bountiful with all incense.

"You are beautiful," he compliments. "Honestly, had I known I would be marrying a princess, I would have found a potion to give me youth again. Just know that tonight, we will conjoin bodies until every last bit of me is drained and you are spent with love."

The way the words slither off his tongue, it all reminds her of how snake-like he is. He is calm, confident, a pompous bastard but one with charisma and a deep mystique.

But as Jahanara reflects on what he said earlier, her mind races with plenty of questions. She doesn't understand how he can be so private, and here, she is about to spend the rest of his days with him. Now that he speaks freely, she wants to know more.

\--

"Tell me about your family, my love."

His brow rises over his dark-kohled eye. "Is that a command?"

She pats his hand and kisses it. "No. I will not force you to tell me if you don't want to."

'Please, tell me all about your past, Jafar. Tell me who you are, tell me where you come from. I want to know all I possibly can about you. You're so mysterious, and by Allah, how I love you for it.'

Jafar breathes out and a deep gulp of air exhales from his lungs. He sits down beside her and keep her hand in his. There is, for the first time in her presence, a look of humble vulnerability. His thumb brushes over her knuckle and there is something odd.

It's like he's afraid to tell her. His Adam's apple bobs in his thinning throat, and as his beloved stares into his eyes, his eyes turn rather soft, the auburns melting into a caramel-like form. In his old age, he seems completely unsure. He seems adolescent.

"Alright," he sighs. "I will tell you all I can remember, because really, I can barely recall life before Agrabah. Please, bear with me and forgive me for what I may say."

\--

"I was actually born in the desert between the kingdoms of Nestarizan and Agrabah. My father was on his way to court when my mother had me. The heat had exhausted her so much that she died giving birth to my sister and I. We were nearly orphaned amidst the sands, as our father was caught astray with thieves, with bandits returning from a loot.

"Nasira, she was much more stronger than I was, and was born ahead of me by just a few minutes. She was clinging to life with precious restrait, and because of the heat, I almost died. There was no water save for what was in my mother's canteen. Our father was on his way back for us, and when he came with a camel, he thankfully brought us both water. Neither Nasira or I remember our mother."

She heaves with an intake of breath and tries to hold back her tears. She has never heard him so frightened, so mortified. To have been out in the desert was death enough, but to be surrounded by your mother's dead arms, that was unthinkable.

"Nasira— is she your fraternal or identical twin?"

Jafar almost laughs at that. "She's my fraternal twin. Why, if she looked exactly like me, there'd be no mistake as to who her relation would be. She and I would be known as two of the ugliest siblings known to man."

Playfully, she taps his face with a mock-slap. "You're not ugly. You are handsome to me, Jafar. If I thought you were ugly, do you honestly think I would have given you a second glance? Or even flashed you a smile?"

Now his expression changes. He growls in a seductive manner and pulls her against his chest. She falls into his lap and the two kiss. "You are a tease, darling heart. But, may I be allowed to finish my story?"

"Of course, I'm sorry."

She moves off of him and allows him to continue.

"In other words, we were both raised by our father. He was a hard, brutal man with strict, stern words and mannerisms. He too was empowered with a sorcerer's properties, but I believe Nasira was the only one naturally born with the knack for magic. For long periods of time, he schooled us, taught everything we knew. I was raised by him personally, then after the first fifteen years of our lives, Nasira and I were separated. She went to a different household and was raised to become a lady.

"My father, however, had plans for me. He was preparing me to be what I am now. For the next ten years, he had the oldest vizier training me. I would spend my time among court officials and pretend to show interest. Despite my ignorance, I was aiming to be a most promising candidate. And how I wanted it then! When the Sultan, your uncle, lost his vizier, I took up the grand position itself. I became the second most-powerful man in the kingdom, with my role as a representative of the people. Upon the month's end, I will have been Hamad's royal vizier for thirty-four years. A miracle, really."

\--

How she admires him now.

He is so experienced, so full of knowledge, so handsome and beautiful to her; there is nothing but his secrecy that she hates, but even with all they have been through, she is more than in love with him. He is her djinn, her ifrit, prepared to devour her soul and body with each lunge of his tongue, of his power. The man is seemingly terrifying, but she cares not anymore.

She has made her choice. After all, in the eve, they shall be married. She shall be marked with henna, and he shall bear a ring upon his finger, same as she will. Gold will adore their fingers and their souls will become one. A strange strategy, but one that both are willing to accept. 

"I'm sorry about all that's befallen you. I can't even begin to imagine. But my love, whatever became of your sister? Does she still live?"

He purses his lips. "Yes, but we do not speak to each other. If we do, it is not for the common good. She is cold-hearted and callous, and if you'd known our father, you would understand why. She is also power-hungry and ambitious, a snake herself. Do not worry about her, Jahanara. My sister is my concern, not yours. Focus on us, Princess. We are the only thing that matters right now, remember? Belong to me."

"As you wish, my sun and stars."

Red lips meet his and together, they wrap their arms around each other.

Their ceremony shall begin shortly, and they dare not be late to their own ordeal. The night is fresh in its beginning, and their lives together are about to start. Pelvises meet, breasts collide, and almost instantly, they're content to make love. However, they are not yet married. She is his young bride, his song, the moon of his life. If he marks her again now, she will truly be ruined. He broke the custom of waiting for coitus after the marriage ceremony. She is besmerched, ruined, but she is still so beautiful in the face.


	12. Chapter 12

The two stand before an alter of jasmine, roses and lilies; there are also exotic orchids and around them, torches burn and the air is filled with the scent of lividity. There is an old man waiting for them, and as he walks with her, the man casts a brief, warm smile. This will not be a usual marriage ceremony, but one that shall be true nonetheless.

Once again, it is night.

High above the moon shines. Its own lover, the sun, is upon the other side of the world; it is accompanied only by the stars, which in their own reflections, glitter onward. The gold Jahanara wears is alight with their glow, and she too is as radiant, as beautiful as they are. Jafar, however, wears a complete black robe. In the inner lining, in his inner sleeves, there are fine accents of reds, maroon and gold within; all are swirled in sight.

The two approach the Sheikh and as they pause before him, they kneel. The man, blind in his stance, puts a shaking hand out and reaches for their heads. One feels the cool touch of Jahanara's jewels, the other feels Jafar's towering turban of black and gold. For what seems to be a minute, the Sheikh smiles again and murmers words for the both of them to hear.

"In the presence of Allah, the merciful one on high, we gather tonight to conjoin these two in marriage. In the right of passage, the man, much like the Prophet himself, must treat his wife with great respect; there is no greater dishonor than that, and to do so will result in years lost and love worn out. Respect your bride. Treat her like the Prophet treated his wives, and for you, there shall be no distress. And now, I must have a verbal consent from both of you for this marriage to continue."

The princess almost stills. Her breasts, beneath her choli, are aching from the weight the essence gives her, and also from the pit of terror she feels; she is about to be brought into the world of marriage, to be brought into Jafar's eyes as his fellow being. But without hesitation, she speaks first. "I consent, Sheikh."

The vizier looks down at her and sees how content she is. She had been terrified of him from the beginning, she has been fierce, loyal and full of love; if there was ever such a way to let him know he was blessed, this moment of their marriage symbolizes it completely. 'And I will honor you, my queen. I will love you, cherish you, and if need be, die for you.'

"And now you," the sheikh says, referring to Jafar.

He answers without thinking twice. "I consent, Sheikh."

The old man's hands pull away and clasp together. "Then rise as one. If you wish to add anything else, you may before I finish the ceremony."

\--

First, she starts. Though she has heard the custom that a bride weeps upon her wedding, she does not. Instead, she grasps onto Jafar's hands and leans her forehead to his, just after he lowers his to meet her. Brown eyes melt into those of auburn. Such love is alive, and the Sheikh can sense it, though he has been robbed of his sight by old age.

"I, Jahanara of Nestarizan, vow to love and cherish you through light and dark. I swear to be your wife in every hour, every night, every day. There is nothing I shall hide from you, and by Allah's good power, I promise to be yours until our last dying day together."

Now Jafar is moved by her words.

It seems so uncertain that he should face her like this. She is young, so young— a woman of seventeen she is. But what if she should become bored with him? What if he gives her such great unease that she leap towards a precipice, or receive the poisonous kiss of an asp like that grievous she-pharaoh? His hands almost turn to stone in hers.

"Go on, young man," the other says.

Jafar could almost laugh at the remark he's heard. Still, in the heat of the moment, he cannot deny her the words he's longing to say.

 

"I, Jafar of Agrabah, swear to be your husband in all hours of your life. And through the dark of the night, I will be there to shield you, to spare you, to hold you from all harm or hurt. My cobra will always defend and honor your scorpion, and for the blessed sake of our departed son, I will never again give myself to the thought of wronging you. I promise to be yours until our last dying day together."

For the last few words, he repeats from her vows.

His princess is now aghast with tears of love, and how they cloud her irises. He brushes them away and as the Sheikh anoints their hands with chameli attar. The scent powers their nostrils and rests deep within them. The oil lathers their skin and together, the two draw their animals upon each other. Her finger traces the tail of her scorpion, and his makes the hood of his cobra. The tops of their hands are freshly painted and softened.

Then, the exchange of rings come. Hers in a golden snake, the top of its mouth "biting" into the top of an extravagent, large white opal; its tail wraps around the bottom and he slowly slides it onto her finger. She gives a sharp intake of breath and exhales it softly.

She then takes out his ring, one which is obviously a scorpion of gold, with two small rubies for eyes. The pincers of the scorpion wraps around his slender digit, and its tail slightly curls upward. Truly, each ring is meaningful, more stunning than any in creation. Jafar leans downand in a gentle manner, cups her face and smooths her hair.

"Now," the man boasts, "I pronounce you man and wife; you may kiss your bride."

As if the man needed to provide that instruction.

Jafar's mustache collides upon her upper lip as he kisses her, eloping his tongue with hers. He pulls her up against him and she wraps her two sinewy arms around his neck. She is overcome with emotion that she does not know what to do, how to feel except that she is willing to endure anything to fight for what they are, for what they have.

She breaks into white tears and speaks. "I love you."

He returns the kiss between words as well. "And I'll love you for as long as I last. But riddle me this, my queen— how does a moment last forever?"

She shrugs playfully and smiles. "I don't know. How does it last, husband?"

"It lasts when our song lives on."

\--

 

He is not a monster. He is her djinn, her savior, her love and husband. There is nothing completely hidden that she does not understand. When he looks at her in the shadow of their chambers, she feels his eyes upon her nape. She unravels the dupatta from her head and allows it to drop to the floor, along with her lehenga and the choli she wears.

However, she is mindful of the saree he had given her. She folds it carefully and places it upon a lounging chair, whereas now she is nude in his sight. Her whole shape is a sight for a ravisher's viewing pleasure. Her pubis is exposed, the curls faint, dark. Her breasts are rather large for a woman of her age, but her nipples are dark tan, perking, medium. Waves of her black hair sit behind her head and linger behind her shoulders.

'I am blessed,' her husband dreams. 'I am blessed with the most beautiful of djinn, and if this is a dream, a daymare, then how gracious am I to be given this moment, to be given a wife I do not deserve.'

Both of her red lips pull back and her brown eyes deliver the most mischievous gaze. 'That may be, husband, but I am yours and you are mine. I gave you myself early on, but please, let us pretend that I am still flowered, that I am still a maid. Won't you give us both the satisfaction of reliving the pleasure and love we shared in that small scene?'

The gall, the quirk!

He growls at her and grips her hips with his hands. He pulls her upward and her breasts rest at the base of his throat. The princess wraps her arms around his neck again and she kisses him. Their lips weave and entwine, same for their tongues. Their bodies are so close now that one wouldn't be able to distinguish if they were two halves or not. That's how near they are.

Jafar tackles her to the bed and nudges her thighs open. He is already naked in sight and so, he groans, presses down against her base and she, so small beneath his figure, feels the growing heat of their love. Her fingers play with his beard, and she twists it with a single little tug.

"Oh!" Jafar exclaims. "Oh, you little minx. I shall make you pay for that."

Jahanara wraps her legs around his waist. Like a child caught in the act, she hides behind her hands and grins widely. "How dare you wait! Please, Jafar— claim me now."

"As my princess commands."

She sighs for a moment, then lowers her eyes to meet his again. "I suppose now I am not a princess anymore now that we have wed."

Jafar, in a stern, yet soothing manner, spanks her underside. "Nonsense. If you still choose to be, you shall be a sultana. You are a queen of queens, my love, and I am yours to command. If any man dares to take your throne, I promise he'll pay for his treason."

But she grinds her hips towards his. "Please, no talk of politics or games. Make love to me, Jafar— you need it and so do I; take this body again and make love to me as if this is my only night in this world."

He cannot resist her. "As you wish, wife."


	13. Chapter 13

He can barely breathe when she mounts him on her own. Her slick passage devours his length, slips down its shaft and slowly, she moves her hips in the motions they're too familiar with. It is a spell-binding feeling, and when Jafar puts his hands on her hips, he rocks into her, hard, slow. Her eyes water and soon enough she is panting. Her breaths come in the sharpest of sounds.

 _'I can feel you, my love,'_ she thinks. ' _I can feel you deeper than ever before, I can feel you everywhere.'_

His tip pushes against the flesh of her cervix and she throws her head back. The waves of her black hair fall behind her back and weave like the River Jordan. Black fades into the cleft of her backside, with sweat clashing in her pores. She motions her hips swiftly and she's pulled down upon him harder than ever before. He grinds into her with deep penetration, and when he takes command, he throws her down onto the bed, her face in the pillows. He slides out of her and then as he rubs her slit with his tip, she swallows him as he pushes into her. He starts to claim her with the most loving of lunges.

_'And I can feel the sting of your scorpion, my queen. It's enigmatic, beautiful and powerful; I dare say, you are the deadliest creature I've ever encountered. Slay me, my love; slay me, make me your slave, your servant in all things. There's nothing I want more than you in this world. I want to die for you, over and over again until your grief is gone. Do you hear me? Do you hear me, I love you...'_

And she adores him. She has never experienced love in this manner, she has never felt so alive, so blessed; the only time she had ever felt so loved was when she became a mother. But the pain still remains. She feels an emptiness that cannot be reprimanded, a love for a child that cannot die. Jahanara pushes back into Jafar's thrusts and when he starts to pick up the pace, he holds her back up against his chest. Sweat collides as does flesh. Heartbeats become one, lips merge as he tilts her head to face his. Their lips lock and all becomes combined in the night. His lissome arms wrap around her chest and her breasts are illuminated in the candlelight, bulging as he presses them tight, presses them lovingly.

His cock slides into her sheath even deeper when she spreads her legs. His thighs rivet against her buttocks and again, she's close to release as he is.

 _'Forgive me for betraying you,'_ he tells her, their minds connected deep. _'You're right-- I should have died instead of Nadir. I should never have cast that curse, should never, ever have wronged you. You are the moon of my life, my beloved, my wife and the mother of my child. I should've died. I should be in that crypt. Please, malikati, let me pay the price for what I've done.'_

She claws at his arms now, his pace so fast, so fast that she believes he'll cleave her in half. His testes brush against her wet folds and as she arches her back, he angles inside her at a pace that seems transcendent of heaven. His lips brush hers and his goatee scratches against her chin. With an animalistic twinge, he tweezes her nipples until she cries out, coming as her eyes cascade.

"I love you," she chokes.

He thrusts five more times before his seed slithers into her womb, escaping him and flowing out onto his shaft. He thrusts one more time and collapses, screaming, sliding out of her from behind. His chest, burly, yet thin, is glistening with sweat and has the faintest of dark curls. She looks over her shoulder and tuts. "My poor lamb," she laughs.

"A lamb?" he inquires. "My wife, I am no lamb. I am a cobra and you are a scorpion. In fact, the most flexible scorpion I've ever seen."

The princess reddens. How he makes quirks of such a nature is beyond her. "Very well, vizier. Since we are married, what shall we do for the rest of our lives?"

He has hardly expected this and when she lies beside him, he sees that his essence is still between her legs. She looks down at her cleft, then back, then to her cleft again. She sighs and nearly cries at the thought of another child. She buries her face into the pillow and allows waves of her dark hair to fall slack around her head, blanketing her in shame. She stabs her fingernails into the Persian pillow and cannot help but wail.

Jafar sees her pain and kisses her shoulder. "Don't you _dare_ blame yourself. If you do not want another child, I will accept that; after all, after what we've suffered through, I'll never want to see you or a child unhappy again."

For the first time since they've been together, she throws herself onto him and kisses him of her own accord. She's told him a thousand times over again that she hated him, but in the moment, it is a combination of love and hate that she feels for him. She's been destroyed by him and how can that be repaired?

\--

He bathes her as they sit in her massive pool.

He moves a rag over her back and sees how she shivers. The heat is immense and intense altogether, but she shivers to the point where she thrashes in the water. He throws the rag down and puts his arms around her, curling her into his chest. Jafar knows she is experiencing the highest form of depression; she misses her child and that is relevant. Her muscles still and her heart slows. She falls against his sternum and feels the winds come through.

"I'm sorry, Jafar."

He furrows his brows and shakes his head. "Wife, you do not apologize to me. You are a princess, a queen of queens. Do you hear me? I don't ever want to hear another apology from you again."

She stands up then and he sees how broken she is. Remnants of his seed are barely there any longer, for they are washed away and cleansed. Her beautiful tan skin is lightly full of stretch marks, and as she looks down at herself, she covers her breasts, her cleft with her arms and hand. "But I'm not beautiful anymore."

In response, the royal vizier stands and the waters quiver around their thighs. His cock sits firm in front of her stomach, for she is smaller than he by nearly a foot and two inches. Skin flows against skin and when he lowers his head to kiss her, she lets her arms slide around to his back. Her fingertips brush his spine and the sensations are arousing to both.

"What if I grow old and slack, Jafar?"

He chortles at her words. "My love, I am four decades older than you. I will be slack and dead long before you will be."

"I'm serious!"

She gives a mock-tap to his arm and she scowls. She purses her lips once before continuing on. "I can't compete with this. I'm not good, I'm impure and I doubt I will ever have another child. I want one, so badly, but damn you, I am confused. I love you but at the same time, I positively hate you. Why do I still love you?"

Suds fall down her breasts and as he kneels in the water, he spreads her nether lips and kisses her nub. She shudders and cries, her tears falling, her legs shaking. He wraps his arms around her and catches her before she falls. _He's a beast, a monster. He is everything a man should never be, and yet, he is the most beautiful thing. His kisses are fire and his words ice. How, oh how is a thing possible?_

"Because," he says, his tongue trailing, "I am yours and you are mine."

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

Jasmine hasn't the knack or the heart to tell her father was she is about to do.

She knows that since Jahanara left, her spare chambers have been left untouched. But there's a crystal in there, one red and glossy to see. If she remembers rightly, it sits on a scorpion-themed base in the small corner, hidden from the sunlight and moonlight. She remembers it very clearly considering the fact she was quick to discard her cousin aside. But now she misses her, now she wants to bring her back home. Her heart hasn't felt the same since then and she wants to rectify what she's done.

As the guards switch their shifts, she follows them down in the shadowy corridor towards Jahanara's spare chambers.

 _'I hope you'll forgive me, Father_ ,' Jasmine thinks. _'Otherwise, how else will I see her again?_ '

Little feet carry her down the winding stone staircase, and through the pitch darkness, through the faintest of lights that shine from the columns from afar, Jasmine travels downward. Her blue salwar shimmers and she's suddenly regretting wearing it. It'll give her away if the guards spot her. Even though she is the Princess of Agrabah, there's no telling what they'll do to a young girl. Their ambitions go far beyond the few pieces of gold they're paid. Their burly bodies walk away and turn a corner, whereas she keeps on going. She walks quickly and as quietly as possible. She knows she can't be seen.

\--

"Oh, where is it?" she whispers.

When she enters, she shuts the door behind her and scurries around. She puts her hands out and through the wisps of dark, thrashes as she looks for it. Her fingertips are reaching out and bumping numerous things around. For her sake, nothing falls over. She is becoming restless and when she's about to stomp her foot, she grits her teeth and gasps. She turns her body around and runs towards the corner and checks it with the brief strike of two stones against the wick of a candle. Light flows into the strength of the wick's stalk and suddenly, the round shape of the crystal is gleaming.

Jasmine has found it in time. She puts the stones down and grabs the whole crystal from the stand, and she carefully walks out to the balcony with it. Its thick heaviness weighs in her hands and as she looks into it, an image finally forms. It is her cousin, somehow, and from what she sees, she is healthy, _happy_. Jahanara's eyes are illuminated in the crystal and shine like lustrous copper. She's positively radiant. Her figure is adorned in fresh red clothing and she is untouched with blood. Jasmine finally sees Jafar enter the picture too, and he's content as ever. He wraps his arms around Jahanara's waist and Jasmine has the urge to throw the crystal.

 _'You are a vile bastard. You have no right to put your hands on my cousin, and how dare she be happy in your presence. She's confusing, you're confusing--- you both are so confusing that I can't stand it. I just want her home, that's all. I want her home and you, Jafar, executed for your crimes against my cousins_.'

She's about to drop the crystal and shatter it when suddenly, she hears her cousin's voice inside her head.

 _'Jasmine? Jasmine, can you hear me?_ '

The mere sound of clarity jolts Jasmine's nerves to a wreck. She's never heard a voice like that before, especially in that manner. It's sorcery through and through, and it's dangerous; if Jasmine were to be discovered...

 _'Jasmine, answer me, please!_ ''

' _Yes_ ,' she replies, _'I'm here! What is it?'_

Between labored breaths, the Princess listens to the other.

" _Jafar is planning to claim your father's throne. I can feel it. He's been plotting this for some time."_

Jasmine murmurs aloud. "How do you know? How do you know if this is even true?"

_'Because, cousin, I discovered his plans only last night. I, I read his mind when we were..."_

Jasmine wants to know more, but two hands grip her shoulders. She drops the crystal and it shatters into a thousand red pieces, sharp upon the touch. She turns and finds that there is no one there. Jasmine grabs her shoulders and checks them; there are no white imprints, but only angry red marks. The pit of her stomach feels the deepest sensation of horror imaginable, and she knows that Jahanara would _never_ harm her.

In a quick outburst of anger, she retaliates and clashes her foot down upon the broken glass. "Whoever did that, I swear to Allah I will have you hanged! Don't ever presume to touch me again!"

Tears flow into Jasmine's eyes but what good do they do?

Without her cousin there to physically protect her, she feels so vulnerable. She hasn't felt that way since her mother died and from what she can recall, there's never been a complete blankness unlike this. It's a new sensation and she hates it with all her heart. For now, she wants to run, she wants to hide and find Rajah, curl into his fur of black, orange and white.

\--

"Jahanara," he asks, "are you happy here with me?" When he turns to face her, he grabs her hand in his lean, agile digits. He wraps them around hers and as she is pulled against him, the scent of their sweat holds fast. They bathed only a few hours ago and yet, they still smell of each other's fluids. It's a languid feeling, and she knows it to be true. His body, while tremulous and thin it is, can provide great horror when it wants to; she's only ever been afraid of her husband a few times, but now, she's beyond reason of thought. "Yes," she lies. "I am."

Like a jaguar scenting the prey, he can sense her. He's too old, too keen and intelligent to take a young woman's eyes as anything but a sign of moral gesture. He grabs her and turns her to face him. The signature snake staff he owns now rests in the palm of his hand, and with it, he uses it against her. He's found a way to look past her mystic eye, and now, he can delve into her thoughts. "Tell me what you were thinking," he commands. As he holds her small body, she unwillingly moves her lips and trembles. "I was thinking of Jasmine, I was speaking with her."

Auburn eyes flash dangerously white at the sound of that name. "Tell me more, wife." "I was telling her your plans. I told her that you were planning on taking her father's throne away from him, I..." But that is enough. He releases her and with the free hand that he has, he pulls it back and lets loose a powerful backhand across her face. It hits her so hard and when she falls to the floor, she nearly becomes unconscious. Jafar looms over her and puts his figure on hers, his hands menacingly gripping her wrists. Pain electrifies them both and how she screams then. "Get off me!"

" _You scolded me for not being able to trust me, and here you are, dispensing information to my enemies! I warned you, my love, I wanted you in every way possible. I wanted you to be with me, for me, covering me with your body and lover, but now, you've betrayed me! Jahanara, how could you do that? How could you tell that little bitch?"_

_"I warned you, Jafar! I gave you my heart, my body, but now... I know I can never truly give you my loyalty any longer. We're two pendulums swinging towards each other in a maelstrom. Can't you see it's inevitable?"_

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering what "amyrti" means, it is "my princess" in the translation from Arabic. And yes, while I know that using the term skyclad doesn't necessarily fit the picture of a sorceress' usual worshipping practices, I thought it'd be a nice use of terminology; after all, to worship skyclad means to perform one's ritual in nudity. It is a part of the Neo-Paganism routine for Wiccan worship.

She stands firm as she looks him in the eye. The quick calculation is there, the swift plunge, the deep regret. She shudders as he walks toward her and intensely, she moves back. There is no peace now, and here she was, thinking that if she tried to love him again that all would be well. But she is a lone woman, a childless girl. She has bled for this man and has given him an early-birthed son. There is nothing left for her. There's only pain, only sadness, and together, the two can see it.

"Strike me again," she challenges. "Strike me and lose your hand."

"You are in _no_ position..."

But now she holds his hand in hers. Her hand grips tightly around his wrist and her eyes glow golden, her pupils black but irises translucent with the gold-yellow of the sun. He tries to pull away but cannot move. She is mystical, she is powerful, she is a goddess bound in human flesh. Her whole appearance is magnified and how she becomes beautiful.

"You've awakened the mystic, Jafar," she says. "I _am_ in the position to command you, seeing as I am both princess and sorceress. If I willed it, you could be dead."

He almost pushes her to the brink. If he is not careful, he could set her heart aflame. He cannot risk it though--- for some damned reason, he loves her and always will; she is cruel somehow, yet merciful. There is a spell-binding nature to this princess and he is bound to it. In a shying retort, Jafar pulls his wrist out of her hand. He steps back a few paces and looks at her. Her lip is still bloodied and now, he feels as if he's committed the worst sin. Her black hair clings to her shoulders and however possible, her hands wring white at the knuckles. Jahanara has never looked so beautiful before in all her rage.

"If you wanted me dead, wouldn't you have done it already?"

She turns to look away from him. Her feet take her out onto the balcony and when she is exposed by moonlight, her eyes return to normal. They are no longer the hate-filled glow of gold, but now returned to the shade of an exotic chocolate. There is a thickness to the air and both can feel it. Jahanara's hands grip the rim of the balcony and she is no longer aware he is there, at least not until he comes up from behind her. Two cold arms wrap around her waist. She, in her fit of terror, sniffles and throws her arm backward. It hits Jafar in the chin and when she looks at him, there is a certain twinge of fear.

"I can't trust you," she adds. "If it's Allah's will for me not to do so, then I shall try to follow a different path; but know that I will not be near you any longer if you harm me again."

"I cannot help it!"

The Princess looks at him with a pair of curious eyes, and then suddenly, he reveals all. He grips her forearms painfully and begins to scream, begins to let loose all his anger, frustration. There are smeared lines from the kohl he wears around his eyes.

"When I look at you, I see the woman I have always dreamed of. I see a goddess more powerful than that of the Egyptian entities, I see a woman unbound by fear, untouched by age and petty shallowness. Jahanara, you are the one I've waited for nearly eighteen years. That prophecy condemned me to love you as soon as it was written, and as soon as you were born. Had I known of your birth? No, because I was too overwhelmed with that petty uncle of yours. If I had known that the Prophet had given me you, perhaps I would have changed from your birth and the minutes forward. I am a man with a passion for living, for dying if need be, _amyrti_ , but I will never be ignored."

\--

"You speak as if _I_ entrapped you into that prophecy."

He sits down and turns his face away. "Perhaps you did. You honestly think I had any choice in the matter when I learned about you?"

When she trails around to face him again, she lets her defenses settle and rest. Her limbs feel willowy, airy, and she is a jaded tan within the moonlight. Beneath the faint sheaths she wears, her figure is easily seen. Her breasts are swollen beneath the red cloth and her pubis is pronounced. All in all, she is still a stunning creature. Her feet trek her towards her husband and when she reaches him, she unties the back of her choli. It falls to the floor and now, in his presence, her orbs of flesh are exposed.

She holds him then and cradles his head, removing his turban. His balding scalp and wisps of black hair brush against her chest and hungrily, lovingly, he kisses her there. Lithe lips merge with soft, young flesh. _I want you, I need you, I crave you. if I have to die someday knowing what I've achieved in this lifetime to be you, then I will die for you, for Allah if need be. But my wife, my precious little scorpion, don't forsake. I have to rectify my rage, and I have to sustain my hatred for those lower than me. But I want nothing more than you. I may be old but I will forever be yours. Command me. Kill me. Order me to die by the executioner's sword and I shall. Don't ever leave me. I am yours and you are mine._

"But promise to _never_ hit me again."

He goes deathly quiet. He ponders whether or not if he can make a promise he can keep. When he goes to speak, she takes his aging face in her hands and peers into his irises. Foreheads meet and their lips collide. Saliva mingles and their tongues tremble against one another. She is almost reduced to tears and when he takes her into his arms, she could almost die from sheer happiness despite the horrific hitting they've given each other. But then again, isn't love something worth fighting for?

To relapse into the moment, she straddles him and pushes him back onto the bed. Her hands rest flat upon the front of his robes and as she settles down, she stares lovingly and whispers.

"Promise me, Jafar, that for as long as we both shall live you will never hurt me again, and in return, I vow to never hurt you again. Please, promise me..."

 _Damn you, little creature. Damn you, damn me and for all the things we might do in the future._ "I promise."

\--

Few hours later, she has gone back to lighting incense in the silver-and-brass holder. It sinks through the soot it creates and the aroma is enticing. Jafar does not feel her in the bed when he stirs, and as he turns onto his side, he sees her in her brazen nudity, he finds that she is more beautiful when practicing her craft skyclad. She is a true enchantress. She harnesses the powers well. There has never lived a more powerful woman in all the kingdoms, and so, he admires her for who she is.

" _Amyrti_ , come back to bed."

But she does not hear him. She is dazing into the smoke of the incense and cannot hear, feel or see much of anything through half-opened eyes. She is entombed in thought and cannot escape. This concerns Jafar and when he keeps his eyes fixed upon her, he notices how still she becomes.

"Janni," he calls to her. "Janni, come back to me."

Still no answer.

" _Jahanara!"_

She collapses at the sound of his voice. In her nakedness, she falls onto the carpeted floor and shivers. She cries and holds her hand out, stretching as he leaves the bed to comfort her. "Jafar..."

 

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

Her blood boils beneath her skin and as she gasps for air, she is choking. He rushes over to her and reels into his arms, lifting her, then placing her down on the bed. He looks her over and finds that she has angry red scratches on her skin; it trails from her cleft to the hollow of her throat, and the color of the scratching is bright, as if recently fresh. She chokes once and then starts breathing rapidly. Jafar takes the chance to sit her up and when she quivers, she exclaims with a near-hysteric sense.

"What is this! Oh, Allah, what have I done?"

Lightly, his fingers trace over her front and he sees how she is pained, wincing at the slightest touch. The whole front of her chest is wet from tears; there is no blood from what he can see, and now, he feels as if it is his fault. She feels ashamed to be seen and so, she turns herself over and looks away from her husband. Sweat clads her brow and she claws violently at the sheets, at the pillows. He lowers himself down beside her and brushes her hair away from her shoulder. His goatee scrapes against her shoulder blade as he lowers his head. "I'm so scared."

Now he is fiercely protective of her. Jafar turns his young bride onto her back and cups her neck, her jaw with his long hand. Two heartbeats enter his ears and when she stills, her womb somersaults; it is quickened when he clings to her, and now that she lies beneath him exposed, vulnerable, some part of her needs to be sated and comforted. Unseen bastard, I won't let you sleep until you've paid for what you've done. She is mine, not yours; she is mine to torment and love all the same and if you dare to near her, I will find you in the Hereafter and wish you the greatest of pain upon your self!

"Quiet, my princess. I am here."

"But it's haunting me, not you. It wants me, Jafar."

Oh God, no, no. It can't be what she is believes it to be; if it is a smoke demon, an ifrit, there will be nothing left for us. It will come straight for her again and perhaps, I won't be able to stop it. After all, it should be coming for me instead of her. I conjured up a spell to physically wane her father, and in return, it backfired and killed our child. Just, no-- no, no; if it's coming for anyone it should be for me. I'm the one who condemned her and our child, and I'll be damned if anything will rip me from her.

\--

"Jafar, you can't!"

She pulls on his arm and tries to hold him back. He starts to walk down the corridor and in a rage. His robes flow behind him and he appears ghost-like, a djinn, a red djinn. His shapely-contoured face is pulled back in a sneer, with growls emitting from his throat. He cannot be stopped as he is determined. The pattering sound of their feet upon the steps is rather loud, just like the erratic beating of her heart.

"I can and I will. I won't let that shadowy beast interfere."

"Even if it means you'll die? Jafar, it will take you and rip you apart!"

He pulls his arm out of her hands and stares. "My dear, I am older and wiser; I know what it is I'm doing."

She shakes her head and laughs. Jafar is confused by her, but when she reaches her whole hand up to touch his face, she cups his face with her palm ever so softly. In the instant that she draws closer to him, there comes a fluttering sound of wings. A bird of pudgy proportion comes and rests on her unscathed shoulder. It has a gold-yellow beak, beady yellow eyes, red body and blue feathers that align the ends of his wings and his tail; it is undoubtedly Iago. "You're half-right, my love. But you're not doing this alone," Jahanara smiles.

Jafar is astounded by who he sees. His teeth gnash as he stares with venom. " _Iago, how dare_ \---"

The bird is tempted to fly away but the Princess throws a hand up. "I want you two to reconcile."

Both parrot and vizier are bound by their unsure nature to answer singularly and in a combined gasp. " _What?"_

The red that Jafar wears now matches the shade upon his face. It is strong, it is fierce. Iago sticks his tongue out at the other and makes a disgusted sound as if he is retching. He shivers his feathers and shrugs. Her husband stares down at her and takes the bird back. His hand grips Iago's body and he plops him onto his shoulder. Jafar does not say anything indefinitely as he continues walking.

"Considered us reconciled."

\--

Down in the dungeons, there is a musky scent to his madness. He is determined as ever as he collects his vials, his spell books, to gather up all possible materials that will help aid him in his conquest to make the ifrit leave them both alone. If he can divulge to its senses and appeal to it, he can try to save her whilst condemning himself. Ancient text and scrolls lie out on the table. For many, many years they've gathered dust until now. Webs made from spiders have scattered across the papers too. It is an old, decrepit way of looking at things, but he's always been accustomed to them.

Jahanara looks around in utter silence.

There is a strange darkness about the place that she cannot comprehend. Her senses feel it. Her mind can feel it too. Suddenly she's overwhelmed and as she ventures around the dungeons, she discovers that he has shifted her belongings away to make room for his own. The Sands of Time appear on the table and her hourglass is nowhere to be seen. Clear crystal shines bright in the flames and she wonders then how powerful the grains themselves are.

"Jafar, what is it that you exactly plan to do?"

As he unravels a scroll, he begins to write down words in their native tongue. "I plan to imprison the ifrit, my love. By doing that, it won't harm you or anyone else."

_Oh, you fool! Do you honestly think that a spell or binding hex will keep it in its place? My love, you've never read about these things as I have. They are evil, they are vile. They'll rip you apart, flesh from bone, and not even I will be there to stop it. My love, my vizier, my sun and stars--- if you die, I'll have no one. I may have Jasmine for the time being, but that would be the only person who would accept me for me. Ameen and Alyas are only so young, and they are cubs; they won't live on their own without me, and if they did, they'd die. I will not abandon my fur-clad children or my family. And you are a part of me. You are my darling husband and the world will be what you make of it._

She voices her opinion then and hopes that he hears it.

"Jafar, don't you know that by accidently invoking this spirit," she cautioned, "that you will undoubtedly make it more angered than before? Dealing with these spirits is not for the faint-hearted!"

A sudden outburst of emotion frequently overwhelms her. Her thick, sharply-shaped brows arch over her head and a look of solitude eclipses her face. Her tender heart is marked by hate, by love and by tragedy, and he can see it. She does not want him dead. She wants him alive, wants him to be with her through hell and shadow. When he's done writing, he puts the quill down and grabs her. Lips merge and he holds her, almost fatherly. "Janni, my heart is never faint. You know that."


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name for her cubs translates as such: "Ameen" means 'faithful, trustworthy,' while "Alyas" means 'brave one.' The first name is pronounced as "ah-mean" and the second name is pronounced as "all-lie-us" though for that name it is traditionally spelled as "Ilyas."

The cubs are under the watchful protection of Iago, and as he putters back and forth, the two leopards jump, they snap and bite at his feathers in a playful manner. This sets the parrot on edge, as he does not want to become their meal. He'd rather keep all feathers on him to say the least. He bats at them and huffs. "Get away, you infernal pussycats! I ain't fixin' to be anyone's dinner and that's that!"

Blue feathers fall from the tips of his wings and suddenly, he's aghast as Ameen, the now-largest cub, pounces on him. Yellow eyes panic and he thrashes beneath them. He is struggling and as Alyas closes in, he's about to faint. Iago's poor little heart races and when Alyas licks his face, he shivers. "Get off me, you snobs!"

Ameen is about to lower his opened jaws to the bird's face when suddenly his mother comes around the corner, chastising him. "Ameen!"

Both cubs look to their mother. Blue eyes of crystal clarity stare at the red sheath she is adorned in. Immediately she rushes them and shoos them; both cubs scatter off. Iago sits up and wheezes, gasping mediocrely for breath. He exaggerates as Jahanara leans down to pick him up. "Oh, poor Iago."

"Poor Iago? Poor Iago is right! I could've been bird meat to those rabid animals of yours! Besides, why ain't you with Jafar?"

She does not respond indefinitely. She grows quiet, fearful. There is a look in her eyes that symbolizes horror and there is not much she can say that will give her peace of mind or comfort. She then goes towards her cubs and as she perches Iago atop her head, belly down, she picks up both her cubs. Ameen slinks into her left arm while Alyas sinks into her right. Together, all four of them venture off towards her chambers where she finally speaks to Iago alone and out of Jafar's way.

\--

In front of her, Iago sits down on a pillow and grovels.

"What do you mean 'protection spell'? Ya mean he's trying to play with that wacky mumbo-jumbo again?"

"Unfortunately, yes. He's trying to protect me, though."

As always, the little parrot was blunt and quite to the point. His little beak is twigged with a small tweak, and when she smears a little ointment on it, he starts to feel its soothing effects take hold of him. It cools the top of his beak where Ameen accidently bumped him, and he finally feels a little ease. Iago sniffles a little and sneezes, spilling the bowl of ointment into her lap. She cannot hold back a laugh despite the mess, and nevertheless, she cleans up Iago first, a selfless act indeed.

"You can never catch a break, can you, Iago?"

He huffs at her and sneezes once more. "I guess I can't. Now, are you sure you're alright, lady?"

He's concerned about her and she admires it quite honestly. It is a quality that most people lacked, but this parrot is brave, he is kind when he wants to be. There is a certain radiance about loyalty and the Princess finds it rather comforting. She wipes the ointment off his little face and brushes his feathers clean. Red is visible and blue is too. He dries by the candlelight and in a few minutes, he's starting to become drowsy. He yawns once and starts to ease down. What he doesn't know is that she made the ointment into a soothing oil that can help one sleep soundly.

He falls back onto the pillow and puts on a dreamy face. He closes his eyes and his little feet move back and forth, as if he's beginning to dream in a silent rhythm. Both of his wings flex and suddenly, he starts to snore. Both cubs look down at the parrot and lick his face. It is a kind of repentance and the Princess brushes the top of their heads. She grabs each and everyone of them and pulls them to her; that motherly instinct remains with her. Her fingers slide against cheeks, slide atop foreheads. Three little heartbeats merge with hers and she feels safe, she feels proud and so strong now.

Ameen and Alyas curl into her breast and as they lay there, black fur merges with the sight of crimson fabric. Jahanara leans down and kisses each one on their head. They are all her children. Even if Iago acts callous, she knows he puts on a show. Ameen and Alyas are her dearests, and there is nothing she won't do to protect them.

\--

 


	18. Chapter 18

She writes upon a scroll of papyrus and lingers there once before touching the ink to the paper. Her fingers are shivering as she thinks of what to write, but she knows it must be done. Iago sits upon her shoulder but with his head always cocked, always looking around as if he is a watcher. The Princess writes eagerly, sadly and with a heavy weight on her conscience. The qalam sits in her fingers with great unease. She's writing to Jafar and by doing this, she believes it will ease him of what is to come.

The black ink finally lathers the paper as she writes. It is with a grim melancholy that her wrist flicks, allowing her to write down words she never once thought to say aloud. Words in their Arabic tongue sweep upon the papyrus and as she writes, her heart literally sinks; it thumps a few times with a strong rhythm, then grows faint.

_"My sun and stars, my husband,_

_I want you to know that I am leaving and will not be returning. I am going back to where I belong, back to where you cannot enter or follow. Please believe that by doing this I am saving the both of us. Deep down, I wish that we could have been happy. For what I might have been, I hope that it would have been enough to sate your poor heart._

_But we are from different worlds. I am young, you are old; I am naive and you are experienced. One of us is a princess, and the other, a vizier. Do you not see how dangerous it is for people like us to be together? My heart will still be yours, but my love, we cannot be together any longer. There is too much turmoil, too much sadness. And know, please, that I do not blame you any longer for what happened to our son._

_The fault is mine. I failed him as a mother, not you. I should've honored our customs, should have married you and then given myself. Perhaps if I had never practiced these spells of mine, our son, our precious little Nadir would still be alive, would still be growing. Jafar, I love you more than all the spells of astronomy combined and I know because of that, I am cursed. May Allah be with you in the nights to come._

_I am yours and you are mine._ "

The feeling of numbness runs through her entire body then as she stills. There is a faint wind that blows through the curtains of her chambers, and it chills her, quite physically and literally, to the point where she grabs onto herself and shivers. Iago jumps down to the table and is careful not to hit the scroll that is freshly written. He looks at the Princess with a pair of contrite eyes. He sees that she is becoming physically traumatized. She shakes so badly and he is helpless to aid her. Iago is only a parrot after all, and what much can he do?

"Princess, you alright?"

She does not feel alright in the slightest. The parrot has no possible conception or thought as to what she is feeling. There is pain, there is hurt--- raw emotion trapped inside a whirlwind of panic and desire. The horrendous feeling of abandonment is ripping through her instantly. Her tongue trembles as her teeth chatter. Fingertips turn white and as she screams into her arm, she cocks her head out of the way so Iago cannot see her weep.

"Jeez, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so nosy."

"What?"

Iago hops forward towards the end of the table, sits and puts his wings out. "Let's face it. He's a right bastard in his own accord from what everyone knows. Is he trustworthy? Who knows. But look at him and take into consideration that without you, he's just a wicked schmuck without a cause."

Her eyes finally dry and when her kohl is smeared, she looks a mess. Her red clothes are sinking around her where she lies on her side, and the qalam falls from her hands, no... rather she throws it across the room and sighs in self-disgust. Iago ducks beforehand and sees as she grabs her scalp with both hands, eyes closed in thought.

\--

"Iago, do you think you can be brave enough for me?"

He pauses and stops. He's not cleaning his feathers anymore and when he looks at her, the look of trust and motherly love is there in her irises. Brown mixes with yellow and then he melts like a wave of wind against the book he sits on. He cannot refuse her; no, Iago adores her too much, though he'd rather pluck his eyes out than admit it verbally.

"What's the favor?"

The papyrus she'd written on is now dry and rolled up. She hands it out and says, "Deliver this to Jafar for me, please."

Iago mushes forward and picks up the scroll with his two feet. He flaps above her head and gives her a concerned gaze. "You sure you're alright?"

Jahanara nods. "I am, Iago, thank you."

Oh, and how the awkward, mutual sadness enters the atmosphere. He is content on following her order, but yet again, he doesn't want to leave her alone. Strange that a parrot should be feeling so sympathetic to a woman whom his master's manipulated and loved. In a quick bow, Iago lowers his head and then flies off down the corridor, his frail red wings carrying him. The Princess is left all alone and while Ameen and Alyas slumber, she begins to gather her things. She packs swiftly and quietly, without pause, without hesitation. She packs then enough food and drink for herself and her cubs. Canteens of water and wine are put into a fleeting sack, and she knows that soon, before first light, she, Ameen and Alyas will have to flee the palace.

For her, there is no other option but to go back home. She will go back to Nestarizan where all her kin are dead and buried, though she will do so with a grief-stricken heart.

 


	19. Chapter 19

_Sands of Reverie, Sands of Time_

_Bring forth the torment we have felt_

_To wish upon that pain which we dwelt_

 

_I call upon the grains, the moon_

_To make suffer the monsters that follow_

_A trembling sphere in the dark so hollow_

 

-

When Jafar cuts his palm again, blood drips from the flesh and onto the glass that holds the Sands of Time. He has called upon her sands too, to delve into the curse with her powers, their abilities. Red slithers down the side and pools down around the brass base. There is a singing pain his slit, and when he starts to bandage, the Sands turn blood-red too, allowing him to know that it senses the sacrifice owed. In the glass, there is a vision that forms. It is tantalizing to see and behold. Tan turns red, red turns black. So much death.

He sees within the glass, Jasmine and her tiger, in her teenage form, slender, sleek and beautiful. He grows with dire anticipation at the mere thought of that precious body beneath his. But in the vision, there comes another. It is a boy, perhaps around Jasmine's own age, who travels with a monkey upon his shoulder. Rag-patched in his pants and with hair as sleek as ebony, Jafar somehow feels threatened by him. How long he believes this prophecy will last is beyond him.

But what could it mean? What does Jasmine and this boy have in common, besides being probable enemies in the future? He does not know and instead dives further to find some kind of truth.

He looks closer and closer, and when he finally sees his wife in the glass, his heart nearly stops. 

_She is leaving._

She is carrying her twin cubs and is making her way towards the stables. The pitter-patter of wings comes into the room and without even looking behind him, Jafar knows who it is. 

"Jafar, I got a scroll for ya."

Iago flies over to him and drops the scroll on the table beside Jafar's right arm. It flops down and nearly unfolds right there, and with the candlelight burning, the vizier takes it upon himself to read it.

When he finishes reading it, he's in a range of unstable emotions. Rage boils inside his veins; there is a palpitation here and there. Sadness mixes with his frustration, pity moves his muscles but yet, he cannot even breathe. His eyes are filled with new tears and in a panic, in a heart-filled outburst of utter longing and desperation, he rips the scroll into pieces. Iago sees his master's fury and dares not talk to him. No, he knows all to well when to keep his beak shut.

\--

The vizier descends down the staircase and into the winding dark that is a corridor. Iago flaps after him and is nearly breathless.

"Your Evilness, wait!"

He does not listen. There is only blindness in love and hate that guides him now.

Jafar is rendered defenseless though. He does not carry his signature staff, nor does he wear his cape, his turban; he is a barefoot man trekking through the darkness into the heat. The door swings open and as he leaves the palace, he turns and runs toward the stables where he hears a horse neighing. His princess has already mounted the beast and now, she tries to settle her twin cubs upon her lap.

Iago halts and sits on a tall wall, observing. He stares down through parted feathers and waits for the fighting to begin, which it does, ever so fast.

"Don't you dare leave me again! We made vows, remember? Do you hear me?" 

Jafar snarls at her, quite literally, and when he approaches her, he pulls the cubs down by the necks but does not critically wound them. They mewl in terror for their mother. Jahanara screams and dismounts, trying to go for her fur-clad children. Jafar takes her by the throat and pins her still, not allowing her to move; the feeling of her pulse beneath his slit palm is vivid and hot. She starts to choke and when her eyes close, her cubs, along with Iago, attack the vizier.

Ameen bites one of Jafar's ankles while Alyas lunges for a calf. Teeth tear clothing and rip deep into flesh, causing blood to well to the surface. Iago plucks at Jafar's black hair as he strives to free the Princess of her husband's horrendous hold. She is freed once she falls backwards onto the ground. The cubs then leave Jafar be and flock to their mother. However, Iago is met once again with near-foul play. A hand is encased around his neck. Bone nearly breaks. Jahanara sees the pain Iago is put through and instantly, she rushes Jafar herself. Her little figure moves past the cubs and she throws herself upon his towering figure; a brave move for someone so small in size.

"Bastard!"

The parrot falls to the ground as well and is retrieved by one cub. Ameen sweeps him under his paw. The leopard growls at the vizier the moment its mother subdues him. Jahanara unsheathes a knife and puts it to his throat. Blade meets flesh but does not cut. It is deathly sharp, and should he move against it, an accident would occur. He sees how determined she is. There is no regret of this in her eyes. 

"Kill me," he demands. "Kill me and see if your precious Allah will save your soul."

"Stop this, Jafar. I didn't want it to go this far, but you've made it happen. Did you honestly think that I wanted to do this, to put a knife to your throat? I didn't want to, but you harmed my children--- _all four of them_."

Iago realizes what she means; he counts as one of the four, and he recognizes this as an act of love. He watches behind Ameen's enlarged paw in small wisps of shock. He is valued, he is loved! Oh, if Iago could find the strength to speak, he would, but the poor thing is terrified. He watches still as the Princess stares at her husband.

"He was a little fool! If you thought for one instant that leaving me was your safest way for escape, you're wrong. No matter where you go, my queen, my life, _I will always find you_. But save your precious cubs. Save that infernal bird. All of your times will come."

Now she recoils.

A swift hit and a sneer leave her and reverberate shock upon the vizier. 

"I am not afraid of you, Jafar. I am only saving my children and nothing more!"

_You're wounding me, amyrti. You're killing me, you're drowning me. I quenched you of your sins and purged them onto myself. Don't you understand that that takes dedication, if not a will of wanting to be your slave? Love me and fear me, that's all I ask. I want you so badly and you can't even see it anymore. Please, let us be as we were._

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! The end of part two!
> 
> I must admit that this one was a real pain in the ass to write; I know, I know. I probably repeated words thousands of times and made so many back and forth scenes, but I don't care. At least this second half is at an end. For me, creating and advancing the backstory of Jafar and Jahanara has been golden. 
> 
> Part three, "Astral Romance," shall come soon. But for now, I must rest and recalculate how not to sound like a fool whilst writing in third-person. Nevertheless, I thank you for putting up with me. Kudos and comments are still highly appreciated and as always, thank you.

She believes him a coward. She has married a coward, one who will always be cunning, one who will try anything and all to get what he wants. As she recognizes this, she stands up and put Iago on her shoulder. There is a stronghold in her heart and as she demonstrates it, Jafar stands and tries to growl at her with the most furious of words.

"If you leave me, you'll be marked! I swear to you that what you've suffered will be mild compared to the severity I shall bring!"

She turns then and scoffs at him. Iago gives him a disgusted look. Auburn colors meet yellow, and she shields the parrot from the vizier's gaze. She clasps Iago against her breast and the little one hides in the folds of her choli. The brazen wind of the desert has come again. The grains swarm, they circulate and do not stop. Ameen and Alyas sit at her ankles as her guardians; they will shield their mother from whatever they can and as they sit, their teeth are bared. No man will come near her for as long as they are there. She laughs at him then and shakes her head, her voice a softness only compared to that of a lullaby. For the first time in her life, she has become a true woman.

She knows that for as long as she stays with Jafar that she'll never be free. There will only be sadness and pain, only torment and decay. She cannot degrade to his level and be lowly. Her hands cradle poor Iago and the cubs sneer onward. The princess is protected and Jafar, in the eve, is left unguided, unguarded and defenseless.

"Jafar, you are talking to a princess of princesses. What I have suffered is great compared to you. I nursed my two twin sisters in their sickness and watched over them before they died. Do you know what they said to me in their last hours? They said, ' _Be happy, be prosperous and may you have the greatest of loves come into your life_.' I once thought that when I met you, that my sisters had sent you to me. But I was wrong. You may have given me a son, but you took him away. I lost my brothers too, all three of them. And do you know where they are now? Dead and buried in the crypts of Nestarizan. Anwar, Ardashir, and Rahim are dead and they cannot come back; my mother is with them and my father, for all I know, is dead. You've destroyed my house, my very bloodline, and now I am the last Sachdev. If the time comes when I bear another child, it will not be yours. For now, I remain the mother of leopards and the guardian of a parrot. You no longer hold sway over me. _I am free and you are nothing_."

_Pain, anguish-- it's there between them. There's nothing but the thought of their son lying dead in her arms. He can see it and so can she; both are devastated by this and can't cope. While he becomes more vile, more cruel by the minute, she grows tired, broken, disheartened. They are two opposites with so many similarities. She is the moon, he is the sun. Two become one. While she lives, he will carry that guilt through and through. He knows this and so does she._

"You'll come back to me. You always do, Jahanara."

She shakes her head firmly. "No, my love, that is where you are wrong."

Fire stokes around him now, a circle burning and ravenous. The flames spark high and there are snapping sounds, twisting, roaring. It is by her doing that he is surrounded by such flames. The gaze of hate-sadness lingers in her eyes. He steps back and is pushed to the middle so that he does not burn to death. He begins to sweat and cannot help it. Her magic is too great for him to counteract now. He grows weaker by the second and black smoke arises from the circle, allowing blockage and no chance of a swift escape.

He starts to cough and he falls to his knees. Jafar blocks the smoke from his face by covering it with his arms, and by doing so, he cannot see her mount her horse, nor can she see how the cubs and Iago sit upon her too. The mother starts to motion her horse forward. The animal leaves its hoof imprints in the sand and before it takes off, its snorts, whinnies and cries out. She holds onto her cubs for life and the reins all the same. Iago is perched on her shoulder and then, all four of them ride off, leaving the vizier in the heat of his sins.

\--

"What'd you mean by all four of your children?" Iago asks. 

She smiles quaintly at him and replies. "What I meant, Iago. You, Nadir, Ameen and Alyas--- you are all my children no matter what."

She is astonishingly in-tuned of what she knows to be true. Though she is human, he a parrot, the cubs leopards, they are all bound together. They all have the same hearts, the same souls, the same blood. She may have flesh, the cubs may have fur, and Iago may have feathers, but they are all the same; they're dutiful, loyal. She is a proud mother of leopards and a fallen son. Nothing will change that. She may be young, she may be bold, but she is never impulsive. As her husband mentions a thousand times over, she is a queen of queens, the moon of his life. 

Jahanara realizes though that it was all folly.

He took advantage of her and misguided her. He took her virginity, gave her a son before marriage, and together, they used magic to combine their souls, their love. It was doomed from this start, this she knows. Still the flames burn from afar and how she can feel their heat.

\--

_I am not a patient man. I am a devil, I am a djinn that summons the worst, and because of your rejection of my love, that hurts worse than any wound you could ever give me. There are certain things that can make and break a man, amyrti, but do you know them? Do you know how a man can go mad from losing his wife and child in the same frame of time? No, you are young! You are blinded with self-confidence, you are naive to think that my heart cannot feel._

_Did I not save you from a life wasted? My life at its best is misery and with what I have given you, I want a favor in return. I want your love, I want your compassion again. Whenever I would make love to you and flow my seed into your depths, my heart had never felt such joy before that. I could look into your eyes and see the woman I was promised. But you betray me, over and over again. You take your cubs, cubs that I gave you, along with my parrot, and you flee into the desert._

_Are you a scorpion or a queen? A beggar or conqueror? Do you cower in sands or do you rule with honor? Riddle me that, my lover. Answer me now, fleeting with enjoyment in your mind. Let us put the past behind us and let the future take hold. I do not wish to reign in this position of vizier any longer, but something tells me that I am indentured to be a servant forever no matter what royal I serve. Of course, my princess, I killed your father. I killed your mother and your sisters, sent that foolish Egyptian to meet your father while he was sickened with a kind of plague. Your first two brothers were easy to fool. Ardashir was easy to slay on the battlefield; your brother Anwar was so gullible that sending him to his death with a rival was tourney to behold. And your youngest sibling, simple little Rahim, well... he died on his own._

_Yes, my queen, my harlot, I murdered your family and I wear that with honor upon my breast. I knew that if I got them out of the way, your kingdom of Nestarizan would be mine along with you, for the prophecy predicted I would have you._

\--

Jahanara cannot go back to Agrabah. She wishes she could, but she will no longer risk Jasmine's life. She is the only family, besides her uncle, that she has left; or at least, that is what she knows. The Princess of Nestarizan is tired and has to worry only about her children now. Ameen and Alyas are half-grown now, and still, that has to count for something. Iago sniffles for the first time as she kisses his forehead.

"Do not worry, Iago," she says. "We will see each other again, I promise."

"But what about Jafar? You know he'll come for you someday."

Jahanara nods and pats his head. "Go," she tells him. "Play the charade for as long as you can give me. I will have things prepared by then. Whether it be a day, a month, or a year, I will make sure that when Jafar wants to play this game of power, that I will always be there."

In a strange courtesy, Iago bows his head and then begins to flap away. He leaves out of the canopy of her domed halls and flies with the wind back to Agrabah; the princess recalls his statement and softly, as she feeds Ameen and Alyas, thinks to herself of what could be.

_I know, dear one. I know. Unfortunately, that's a risk I'm willing to take. I wish you godspeed, Iago, and that we may meet again. I will bless you in your travels, and when the time comes, you will know me only by name. You are a good soul and I hope that in the future, you will help me win this war of hearts and take back the peace we have been so robbed of._

 


End file.
